Heaven and Hell
by Zettel
Summary: 1885. Charles Irving Bartowski heads West on a mission - Boston to Idaho Falls. He is traveling with a purpose, with a gun and a book. A Western.
1. Idaho Falls

1885\. Charles Bartowski heads West on a mission from Boston to Idaho Falls. He is traveling with a purpose, with a gun and a book. A Western.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER ONE:

_Idaho Falls_

* * *

Friday, September 4, 1885,  
Between Cody, Wyoming and Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

Charles Irving Bartowski studied the dusty-but-new hat in his lap. Its broad brim and white color contrasted with the narrow brim and dark color of the hat he wore, the bowler hat he wore, back in Boston. Looking out the window of the stagecoach, he needed only vision and not thought to remind him he was not in Boston any longer.

Out the window stretched brown earth, spindly trees, and small shrubs as far as his eyes could see. Brown dotted with green, oppressed under a sun-fired blue sky, fierce and mighty and omnipresent.

He pulled his gaze back inside and resumed the study of his hat. The leather hatband, alternating narrow strips of green and gold, seemed too artificial, too man-made to belong out here, out West. That white hat rested atop his black bowler hat, obscuring the bowler from view. Fingering the white hat's hatband, he glanced again at his fellow travelers.

Both were dusty and dozing. One he had tried not to stare at for the length of their shared journey. Willowy and redheaded, she had on a garish, bright blue dress with sequins and a white ruffle where it ended around her otherwise bare shoulders. Charles - _Chuck_, as his friends, well, his friend (singular) Morgan, and his sister, Ellie, called him - had never seen such or so much bare and beautiful white skin. The woman, Carina Miller (she said when she boarded the coach in Cody, Wyoming) was traveling on to Idaho Falls, as was Chuck.

She enjoyed Chuck's obvious attempts to keep his eyes from alighting on her shoulders, and, after a time, she had covered them and kept them covered with a navy wrap. The smirk she had worn above the wrap was still on her face as she slept fitfully on the other end of the hard bench they shared. Dust now browned her wrap, and her small, blue hat.

Chuck took his canteen up from the floor and opened it. He wiped the mouth of it and took one long, disciplined swallow. It was his but he had been careful to share it with Carina, and with the other passenger, a large man, several years older than Chuck. The man wore his Western gear, sweat-stained hat, threadbare vest, shiny gun and tended gunbelt, cuffed dungarees, and scuffed boots - all as if he had been born in them, all as if they were his birthright. Chuck knew how gangly and _greenhorn _(the man, John Casey's, term) he looked in his similar but still store-new and stiff gear. Chuck was a mail-order catalog caricature of John.

All Chuck lacked was a gun belt.

Chuck had a gun. It was an old Colt pistol an old man who lived near him in Boston had given to him. Chuck's parents died in an outbreak of fever, and he and his Ellie, a few years older than him, were abandoned and alone in the city. They owned the house, so they had a roof over their head, but circumstances forced Ellie to go to work. She had gotten a job as a waitress at a restaurant nearby and they had managed together, Chuck finding odd jobs to supplement their income. But his sister was a beauty, and the old man, Tuttle, a friend of Chuck's parents, had seen two men following Ellie home from the restaurant one night. The next day, Tuttle gave Chuck the gun, making sure he understood how to use it. Chuck had never had to use it; no one bothered Ellie, although Chuck was sure to stay awake each night with the gun in his hand, beneath his pillow, until he heard her turn the lock in the door.

Chuck had a gun. A gun he had loaded long ago and never fired.

He had it with him, in the old, heavy pillowcase he was using to carry his meager belongings. In it, along with the gun and a few extra cartridges, was a tablet, a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, an apple (bruised but edible), his best black Boston suit and shoes, and a copy of Emanuel Swedenborg's _Heaven and Hell. _

The coach would arrive in Idaho Falls by day's end, another few hours. Chuck adjusted his sore backside on the bench and saw John open one eye in response to the movement. Chuck smiled but John closed the eye. It was as if Chuck could hear it slam, like a door. Carina was snoring softly, wedged in the corner, her head against the side of the interior.

Up top, Chuck heard the driver say something to his companion. Unable to make it out, he was sure that the man had noted a mile marker. They must be close.

Chuck's final destination was Idaho Falls. He was not sure if it was for Carina or John. Neither had been forthcoming on the trip.

Chuck had accepted a job in Idaho Falls, a job teaching elementary school, in a new-built schoolhouse, and he was to meet the representatives of the townsfolk the next day, to see the schoolhouse and make sure supplies (books and so on) were adequate. Chuck suspected that part of the reason for the meeting was so that the townsfolk could assure themselves that Chuck was appropriate for their children. He was slated to teach starting Tuesday of the next week.

He had written ahead and secured lodgings in town. His promised salary, not high, would be enough for him to live a simple, bachelor life. And none of it mattered. Chuck was going to Idaho Falls to teach. That was not his sole purpose, his real purpose in going.

Chuck was going to Idaho Falls to kill a man.

* * *

A/N: A Western, obviously.

Just call me _Zettel Grey._


	2. Infernal Spirits

1885\. Charles Bartowski heads West on a mission from Boston to Idaho Falls. He is traveling with a purpose, with a gun and a book. A Western.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWO:

_Infernal Spirits_

* * *

Later on Friday, September 4, 1885,

Between Cody, Wyoming and Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

Chuck again heard voices from up top on the stage coach. The driver, Bob, yelled and the man riding shotgun beside him, Steve, yelled in response.

"Bandits! Go, go!"

"I see 'em!"

The coach lurched forward, the screech of strained leather and metal underscoring the violent change of pace. Chuck heard Bob urging on the horses, words and whip, the sound stinging Chuck's ears.

John Casey's eyes were open, clear, his hand on his gun. At the same moment, Carina Miller's eyes were open too, and her hand slipped under the navy wrap.

Chuck jutted his head out of the open window and peered back. Several men on horseback, the horses plunging hard in the dusty wake of the speeding coach, were closing on them. A shot rang out, and Chuck felt himself jerked back inside, hard. He hit the back of his head as he re-entered, and turned to see Carina, her hand on his back, give him a tight smile.

"Don't get your head shot off, Boston." Chuck nodded as he rubbed the back of his head.

Casey had peeked out for a second. He looked at Chuck and Carina, as if judging them, the coach now tearing ahead at full speed. The three of them were bouncing, bone-jarred, on the two benches. Casey grunted. Another shot, this time from up top.

More shots from behind.

"Bob!" Steve cried out, up top.

Chuck heard a cry, and then the driver, Bob, upside-down, filled his window, blood covering his chest. He hand grasped at Chuck's window, his eyes huge, and Chuck lunged to grab him, but then Bob vanished. Chuck stuck his head out and saw the driver rolling on the road, then saw the men behind them churn over him with their horses.

Again, Chuck was jerked back inside. More shots rang out.

The coach began to slow, Steve was shouting: "Whoa, whoa, whoa!".

"Be calm," Casey ordered in a tone that expected obedience. "We're goin' be robbed. The point's to live through it, and to keep anythin' from happening, " he glanced at Carina, "other than mere thievery. Ain't none of us got anythin' worth dying for, or...gettin' hurt for, wihout need. Let me do the talkin', if any' talkin's required."

Carina looked ready to protest, but the coach had bounced to a stop. She took her hand out of her wrap. A strange silence replaced the cacophony of the speeding coach, and the only noise for a few seconds was the gasping of the horses.

"Don't move!" A voice from outside, cold, its volume measured.

From up top, an answer: "Ain't movin'. Nary a twitch, 'cepting to bleed." Steve laughed and moaned at the same time.

"Throw down that rifle."

Steve did as told. There was a clattering sound next to the coach, the rifle on the ground.

Dust was all around the coach, outside and inside. Chuck could feel it settling on him. A brown fog - a brown version of the London yellow fogs Chuck had read about. Sulphur made them yellow. For a moment, he smelled it.

He made himself focus. The voice was speaking, harsher.

"Get down from there! Slow!"

"Jeezus!" Steve complained, wheezing age and pain, as he clambered down. "Y'all just kilt poor Bob back there. Shot 'im, then run 'im down like a cur. Bob was a good 'un."

"You shouldn't have run," was the brief, unconcerned answer. "How many inside?"

Silence. "How many?" The voice was chill, deathly.

An answer. "Three. Two men. Well, one man and one greenhorn school teacher. One wommin."

"Huh," the voice expressed puzzlement, "is it two men and one woman, or one man and two women?" While asking the question, the voice got closer.

"I dun't rightly know. The first, I reck'in."

Casey looked at Chuck and then he looked at Carina. He reached out and pulled her wrap up closer to her neck. She frowned but nodded.

"You three, in the coach! Out! Now! Hands up where we can all see them."

Casey went first, opening the door and swinging it outward, showing his hands before he stepped down. Carina followed him, and a chorus of wolf whistles rose from behind the coach. Carina did not react.

Chuck left his hats, white and black, on the bench and followed Carina. Isolated snickers replaced the wolf whistles. "Is that the teacher, Number One?" A new voice asked, "cause she's shure ugly 'nuff to be a teacher. Kinda tall fer a gal." Laughter.

"That isn't a gal, Number Two," the original voice answered, and Chuck could now see the man, or he could at least see the bandanna covering the man's face. Number One: the man was of medium height and medium build. He had pulled his black hat low on his head, the bandanna covering all of his face except the eyes. Number One had a gun in his hand. He was dressed in a black coat and black pants of a rough fabric.

As Chuck scanned the scene, he realized all the men - five, total - were dressed the same. Dressed like that, faces erased, guns out, horses glistening with sweat in the long rays of the afternoon sun, the sun distorted by the settling dust, the men seemed demons, hell-spawn come to claim souls. Chuck squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, the scene was still frightening but it was again human. These were men, not infernal spirits.

The man who had asked about Chuck, Number Two, dismounted, gun in hand. He strolled to the three of them where they stood, hands still up. From a short distance, the man gave Casey a careful survey, chuckled at Chuck, and then stepped closer, right up against Carina.

"Ain't you a fine piece o' female flesh," he glanced at the other three men on horseback. "Whaddaya say, boys?" The wolf whistles rose again, piercing. The man reached out and brushed some of the dust from Carina's blue hat.

"Ain't you the pretty thin'," he leered - statement, not question, "you remind me o' one o' them _purs-e-lain angels_" he drew the term out, "at my gran's house. They was dusty too. Always wondered what's unner their skirts, them angels', but those skirts didn't lift."

He leaned close to Carina's face, bandanna almost against her lips. "But yours, I bet it lifts right up, like it had wings, up, up over yer head, huh? Bet it's been up there a buncha times, with some man sweatin' and sawin' away beneath it. An' you a-cooin' like you liked it. _Right_?"

Chuck saw a flash in Carina's eyes but she stood stock-still.

"Don't you talk to her like that, you bastard." Chuck ground the words between his teeth.

The man turned toward Chuck. The corners of his eyes, green, crinkled, and Chuck knew the man was smiling beneath the bandanna.

"Well, lookee here. The schoolmarm's goan teach me my manners. Ain't that sweet?" The man's hand moved, lightning; he pistol-whipped Chuck. Chuck straightened after the blow, feeling the blood running from his nose and tasting blood in his mouth. The man's green eyes watched the blood run down Chuck's face. "That was yer first lessin', schoolmarm. You don't want me to teach you yer last."

Chuck looked at the man, then spat blood on the ground. "A real man has respect for women. For all women. _Number Two._" The man tensed, and Chuck expected another blow, but Number One intervened. "Stop, Two. We're burning daylight. We need to finish and go." He looked at Two, and waved his gun up at the coach. "Get up there and grab down that strongbox. Then see if these three have anything worth taking."

Steve, who had been leaning against the coach, collapsed in the dirt just as the man finished speaking. Chuck started to move toward him but Number One stopped him. "Leave him; he doesn't matter."

Two had climbed on top of the stage. He lugged a box up from behind the driver's bench. "Here 'tis!"

Number One gestured to another man, still mounted, and he nudged his horse over. Number Two handed the box down to him. He balanced it on the pommel of his saddle and gestured to Steve. Two climbed down and went through Steve pockets. After a moment, he held up a key in triumph and gave it to the mounted man: "Here ya go, Three." Three put his hand inside and lifted a large stack of bills. The men in black made appreciative noises when they saw the money. He put the stack in a saddle bag then repeated the action several times. He nodded when he finished, and threw the box onto the ground, empty.

"All right. Check them." Number One to Number Two.

Number Two walked from the fallen shotgun rider to Casey. He looked Casey up and down, more slowly this time. Then he reached out and looped his finger through a heavy chain, silver, attached to one of Casey's vest buttons and running into one of his vest pockets. Two tugged on the chain and a large silver pocket watch slipped from the pocket and swung from side to side on the chain.

Casey's face reddened and his lips compressed to invisibility but he did nothing else. Two unhooked the chain from Casey's vest button and made a show of hooking it to one of his own, then sliding the watch into his vest pocket.

"Promise, I'll be thikin' o' you every time I look at it." He laughed then stepped to Carina, took a gold bracelet from her wrist and a delicate chain from around her throat. His fingers lingered on her skin as he unclasped the chain. A small, gold locket hung from the chain. The man looked at Carina for a moment, his eyes lustful, but then he glanced nervously at Number One, and moved to Chuck. He evidently saw nothing on Chuck worth taking. After a moment, chuckling in contempt, Two stepped to the coach and grabbed the pillowcase Chuck was using as luggage.

He looked inside. Another of the mounted men spoke. "What's in there?"

Two had his head in the end of the pillowcase, looking inside, rotating it to move the contents. "A pen, some paper, an apple, some fancy city duds an' a book. Maybe it's a bible."

Chuck spat blood again. "It's not the Bible. It's Swedenborg."

Two lifted his head from the opening of the pillowcase. "_Sweden-burg_? Well, ain't we all _ed-du-caded_?" Two shoved his arm in the pillowcase and extracted Chuck's apple. He rubbed it on his coat sleeve, then lifted the bottom of his bandanna. After brandishing the apple at Chuck, Two took a huge bite of it, juice running down his bared chin. Chewing, he walked to Chuck, and dropped the pillowcase in the bloody dirt at Chuck's feet.

His eyes glinted and turned to Carina, holding the apple out to her. "I wanna see you take a bite. Seein' that's all I have time fer." He sent a smirk at Casey and then shoved the apple against Carina's lips, grinding it against them. She opened her mouth and took a bite, the juice running down her chin, too. Two watched her as she chewed the bite, then he leaned forward and licked the juice off her chin, his tongue moving slow.

Finished, he looked at Chuck as he savored the juice. "That's apple's a good 'un." He walked over and got on his horse.

Number One looked at the three of them and at Steve on the ground. He glanced back down the road. The trampled body of Bob was visible.

"Okay, we're finished here." He got on his horse and the men backed their horses away, then turned them, and, lashing and yelling, rode away.

Chuck looked to Casey, expecting him to pull his gun, but Casey instead ran to Steve. Chuck, after glancing at Carina, ran down the road to check on the driver.

Bob was prone, dead, his body broken and bloody, his legs at unnatural angles, fingers missing from his hands. Chuck forced himself to turn Bob over, just to be sure. _Lord, have mercy! _He would never forget Bob's scrambled face.

Chuck closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting down nausea that gripped him, threatening to rise. When he opened them, he glanced up the hillside and thought he saw a rider, far away, in the deep, long shadow of a great, green pine. A flash of gold in the dark: the rider evaporated. Chuck blinked, looked again, but saw the rider no more. He was not sure he had seen a rider at all. Maybe it was another infernal spirit.

Chuck stumbled heavily back to the coach, carrying Bob's corpse in his arms. He put it carefully inside the coach. Casey had Steve sitting up. Steve was not dead, although he was bleeding from his shoulder and from a leg. Casey had bandaged the leg and was holding a bandanna against the man's shoulder. Carina was talking to the two of them in a quiet voice. She watched Chuck put the driver's body in the coach and then she crossed to him.

"Listen, Boston. I appreciate what you did and all, but never, ever do it again. I can take care of myself, and I'll be damned if you'll get yourself killed defending my honor." She glared at him for a moment, then her face softened. She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "And I do thank you - but only this once." Chuck nodded and picked up his pillowcase.

They put Steve in the coach. He was good to travel. Carina was going tend to him. Chuck joined Casey up top and they started again for Idaho Falls.

Casey growled, "We should make it before pitch dark."

* * *

A/N: Still getting started. Chapters will get much longer soon, longer than is usual for me. Expect the next chapter on Thursday.

I will not be providing much in A/Ns during this story. I'll let it speak for itself.

I will say a quick word or two here at the beginning. First, I am playing fast and loose with history. Although the actual history of Idaho Falls will figure in the story, it will not be presented _historically. _For example, in 1885, Idaho Falls was still known as Eagle Rock - but I am going ahead and calling it 'Idaho Falls' because that is the name I want. Second, I will also generally respect the geographical reality of the area as it was, but I will change it here and there as needed. Third, despite appearances, I'm not all that interested in period dialogue or period talk. I'm using it some, but mainly for color and as a way of further individuating certain characters.

Let me know if you are interested in this story: post a review or send a PM. Not yet sure how much interest there is in a Western. I very much appreciate those who have responded.


	3. Fever Dreams

A/N1: New chapter, lots to do.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER THREE:

_Fever Dreams_

* * *

Late Friday, September 4, 1885,  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

_Bells are ringing, What's the matter? See the smoke and hear the clatter; Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Pour on Water, Pour on Water._

_-Sacred Harp Song, _Fire Alarm

* * *

The stagecoach clattered into Idaho Falls in the pitch black.

The soaked horses foamed and stumbled. Chuck had witnessed, fascinated, Casey's skill with horses as Casey coaxed effort from the horses beyond their endurance.

As they entered the dark edge of town, Casey aimed the stagecoach at its lit center. A moment later, he reined in the weary horses in front of the Bar None Saloon.

The lanterns outside lit the front, and light spilled from the interior over and under the swinging doors. A piano, poorly played, tinkled drunkenly from inside. Casey handed Chuck the reins and jumped down. Just as he did, a man came through the doors and took in the scene. Carina had opened the door and was helping Steve get out. The man held one of the swinging doors open for Casey, who hurried inside. After he did, the man hurried up the street into the dark.

A moment later, a wild commotion broke loose inside, as cries of "Hold up!", "Bob's murdered!", "The Number Gang!".

People poured into the street. Most were men, dressed like Casey, but there were several women, dressed like Carina One woman, dark-haired and dark-skinned, cried out: "Carina!"

Carina jerked. She sought the woman's eyes and Chuck saw an unspoken greeting pass between them, along with a simultaneous unspoken command. The woman neither approached Carina nor did she say Carina's name again.

A sizable crowd had formed in the street around the coach, and on the boardwalk before the Bar None. The flickering lantern light made the faces in the crowd distorted, and their jumbled talk and excited cries made them seem damned, imploring for mercy.

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach knotted and he jumped down from the seat and stumbled away into the darkness on the opposite side of the street. He knelt down and hugged himself. After a few seconds, the pain and nausea subsided. Chuck felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Carina's concerned face.

"The Doc just got here. I guess that first guy went to get him. Doc's seeing to Steve inside. You need to have him look at you. That pistol-whipping...I...we need to be sure you're okay. Like I said...not going to have you on my conscience." She rubbed Chuck's shoulder.

Chuck stood up shaky. "I'm sorry I didn't stop that guy, Number Two, with the apple."

"Don't be. He'd have beaten you bad for sure, Boston. I prayed he wouldn't. And, anyway," she half-smiled, "it's not like I haven't been licked before. I'm just glad he didn't lick _you_ \- _lick_ you anymore, I guess."

Chuck was not sure how to respond to that. He stood, tongue-tied, and Carina reached into her bodice. She got a look of concentration on her face as she hunted then produced a lace handkerchief, white, trimmed blue. After putting it to her mouth, she began to wipe Chuck's face. She smiled as she did it.

Chuck looked back across to the coach and the saloon. The crowd's noise had quieted and Casey was standing amid them, talking. Chuck could not hear him but he was explaining what had happened.

Chuck reached up and stopped Carina's hand. "Thank you, Carina, but I want to hear what Casey's saying."

She put her hand on his chest, cupping her handkerchief in it. "Better for you to stay out of it. You're here to teach, right? That's what you said on the coach yesterday. No need to get more involved in this. Just be a witness, a victim. No need to draw extra attention to yourself.

"Towns like this are hard on strangers, new folks. They'll want the man teaching their kids lilly white.

"Speaking of which, not a good idea for us to be seen together much...if at all." She twisted her mouth. "I'm here to work for Anna Wu at the Bar None. A lateral move, but I needed a change of scenery - a change of clientele. I'm not the sort of person a school teacher should be seen with, unless it is on the busy street at high noon, exchanging an otherwise disinterested greeting."

Chuck looked at her and put his hand on hers. "I meant what I told that highwayman, Carina. All women deserve respect; I don't make distinctions."

Carina grinned sadly. "That's high-minded of you, Boston, very noble, but I guarantee, folks around here will make distinctions for you. You keep to your side of the street when I walk by." She sighed. "I'll send the Doc over when he's finished with Steve. Just sit here." Carina started to turn.

"'Disinterested'? 'High-minded'?" Chuck stared at her, regarding her. She stopped her turn and he thought she blushed - but he could not be sure in the dark.

"Sorry, Boston. There's a lot of...downtime in my work. I look at books." She gave him a sharp smile. "Not _Swedenborg_, mind you, but you know, books with words, not just...pictures."

Carina turned and marched away. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes brooking no disobedience from Chuck. He shook his head and sat down, sighing, putting his pillowcase at his feet. He leaned against a pole and watched the crowd. They eventually dispersed, most retreating into the Bar None. As they did, Casey wove through the stragglers to Chuck.

"You okay, kid? I think the Doc'll be over here soon. He had to dig a slug outta Steve's shoulder. Lucky, they was operatin' in the saloon. Steve's in there singing now." Casey's face showed a brief flicker of a smile but it vanished as soon as it appeared. "How's your face?"

"Fine, John. Carina helped me clean up a little."

Casey raised an eyebrow and then a speculative look filled his eyes. "Some kind of woman, that Carina…" He stopped talking but his sentence portended more.

"I agree."

"Best you stay away from her, kid. No future in that. That bed's a place of business."

"I wasn't…"

"No, but you might, and that'd be the kiss o' death for you in Idaho Falls."

"You know this town?"

Casey gave Chuck an inscrutable look. "No, but I know towns, towns out here. They're all the same. You don't know. Step lively; watch where you land your feet."

Just as Casey finished, a young man, a dandy, walked up. He was as tall as Casey. His hair was blonde and he had an athletic build. Without preamble or introduction, he bent down and peered at Chuck's face, his face in Chuck's face. He looked thoughtful, then he placed his small leather bag on the street next to Chuck's pillowcase. After a moment's continued study, the man readjusted himself so he was no longer in the light from the opposite side of the street.

As he knelt, he spoke. "Hi, stranger. I'm Dr. Woodcomb. Lady inside told me one bandit pistol-whipped you." Without waiting for comment, he put his large hand around Chuck's chin, and turned his head one way and then another. He put his hands on both sides of Chuck's nose and moved them. After thinking, he held up his index finger and asked Chuck to follow it as he moved it side-to-side.

"You seem to be okay, I think. No broken nose. Your face will be sore for the next few days, and your eyes might be black; we must wait and see. Come to me if you have headaches or feel sick."

"I'm Chuck," Chuck said.

"Right. Lady inside told me. From Boston, right? I'm from San Francisco. We should have dinner one night this week, get to know each other."

"I'd like that, Dr. Woodcomb."

"Call me, Devon, Chuck." The man smiled, grabbed his bag, and stood up. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Yes, I have contracted with a _Mrs. Fitzsimmons_."

Devon's face brightened. "That's just down the street," he pointed, "she's awesome and her house very comfortable."

"That's quite a commendation," Chuck said, laughing and then wrinkling his face in pain. "Ouch."

"Like I said, _sore_. Come by and see me tomorrow, even if everything seems fine."

"I will."

Chuck and Casey watched Devon walk away. Casey turned to Chuck. "You need me to walk you to your lodgin's?"

"No, I can find it. What are you going to do?"

"I'll help with the coach and the horses. Good horses. With Bob's body. Then I'll get a room above the saloon. Sheriff's out in the territory, they say, supposed to be back tomorrow. I'll talk to him then."

"Why are you in Idaho Falls, Casey? Are you just passing through?"

Casey's face went slack. "Not passin' through. Not sure I'm stayin' either. Still things t' work out. Maybe I'll see you 'round." Casey shrugged and lumbered toward the coach. He fell in with two other men working to unhitch the horses. Two others were getting Bob from inside the coach.

Picking up his pillowcase, Chuck started down the street.

* * *

Mrs. Firtzsimmons had been expecting Chuck earlier, and let him know that, but she was still awake. Word had reached her of the stagecoach hold-up, and she was full of questions and comments.

Chuck answered as best he could but many of the questions were too _local_ for him to know how to answer them: he did not know Steve's last name or the name of Bob's wife, or if he even had one.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons was a distracted, chatty, plump woman, her hair still dark, despite streaks of grey. She rattled on with questions and comments as she showed Chuck around the house, large and comfortable, then to his room. It never seemed to occur to her that Chuck had stopped responding, that he was just humming in the brief breaks between her speeches. She went on as they stood in his room.

"The previous teacher, Miss Reynolds, let this room. She left town rather suddenly, and she left behind her library. It's not a lot of books, but they seem nice. I've left them in the room for you, although if she writes for them, we will have to send them on." She sighed officiously, then took a deep breath and began again.

"But, until then, as long as you are careful with them - as you will be, seeing as how you're a teacher yourself - you may use them. I serve breakfast early, between six and seven. No later, except weekends. No dinner, although I will make you box lunches for a small, additional weekly fee. Supper is at seven. Coffee later, if you want it.

"You are my only lodger, so your schedule decides the use of the common rooms." They left his bedroom and walked down the hall.

"This is the living room; there's a small study off to the side. If any other lodger comes, you and that person will have to work out a schedule between you. I stay out of such matters. You will find me in the kitchen or in my sitting room on the opposite side of the house. My bedroom is beyond the sitting room." She sighed again, the tour over.

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Fitzsimmon looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bartowski, let me see who that could be."

Chuck heard voices from the door, Mrs. Fitzsimmons and another woman. The conversation rose and fell and ended. Mrs. Fitzsimmons came back into the living room. Behind her was Carina. "This...young woman will be here this evening. Her room...elsewhere...is not ready. She tells me you know her from your stagecoach journey."

Chuck smiled. "Yes, Miss Miller and I traveled together."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons nodded. "And you are fine with her staying here?"

Carina gave Chuck an I-told-you-so look.

"Yes, ma'am. Like me, she's had a long day and needs some sleep."

"Good. Then she will stay. It is just for tonight, right, _Miss _Miller."

"Right, _Mrs. _Fitzsimmons." Carina looked at the shorter, wider woman and Mrs. Fitzsimmons looked back at the taller, thinner woman.

"Well, I need to prepare Miss Miller's room. Your room, as you saw, is ready, Mr. Bartowski."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons made it clear that she was waiting to follow Chuck. He looked at Carina and she winked at him from behind Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Chuck turned and walked up the hallway to his room.

* * *

Chuck took off his clothes, putting his stained shirt into the washbasin and pouring water from the large pitcher over it. He half-stirred it around, watching the water pink. Climbing into bed and turned the lamp down, then off.

Darkness swallowed the room. He could hear a dog barking in the distance. Otherwise, the night was still.

Chuck rolled around on the unfamiliar bed. His head throbbed. The pain was not severe, it was a dull, lumpy pain.

He was not worried about it; he was too tired to worry. After another turn or two, he fell asleep.

_Chuck was in bed, twisting in sweaty covers. He was nine and burning up with fever. His mother's face appeared above him, soft and out-of-focus, but her loving smile still somehow registering. _

"_Shhhh. Chuck, sweet boy, it's okay. You will be fine." _

_He heard his dad's voice, Stephen's voice. "Mary, how is he?" The worry in his voice was palpable. Chuck's mom did not answer. She just put a cool cloth on his head. "Shhh. Chuck. Shhhh." _

"_Mary, you don't look well." His dad coughed and kept coughing. _

…

_A funeral in the rain. The second in as many days. Chuck's mom in a cheap box. The box was stationed beside a rectangular hole on one side, a __recently __filled rectangular hole on the other. Chuck was well. He had survived the fever - brought it home and gifted it to his mother and father. Ellie had not gotten sick. _

_Chuck had killed them. His parents __were gone_ _and he was the reason. __He_ _should have died, not them. _

_They stood in the rain, Ellie holding an umbrella over them both, and he wanted to be dead, to crawl into the cheap box with his mom, descend into rectangular eternity with her. But Ellie held his hand and she was crying - and Chuck could not abandon her. He was the reason she was crying. He was nine and he had ended his world._

…

_Chuck sat in the dreary room, holding the little girl. She was crying. Her mother was dead. Beaten and bloody on her bed. Chuck kept trying to keep the little girl from looking. He did not understand what to do, but he had to do something, had to save the little girl. After failing her mother, he would not fail Molly. Ellie would have to understand; she would understand. _

…

_Chuck was weeping. It was too much. __The_ _weight of the world. __The_ _guilt. __The_ _betrayals of his own eyes. He had to make it right. Had to balance the scales. _

…

"Chuck! Chuck! C'mon, Boston, wake up. Don't wake the landlady, for both our sakes." Chuck jerked awake. A candle burned beside his bed. Carina crouched next to him, her hand rubbing his chest. She had a thin dressing gown around herself, but her underwear was visible. Chuck made himself look her in the eye.

"You're having a nightmare, Chuck, and you're soaking. Are you okay? You're burning up."

Chuck threw the blanket off himself and felt cooler. Carina stood up and opened the window. A cool breeze wafted in, blowing out the candle. "Carina, Carina. I'm okay. A bad dream. A terrible dream."

He heard her cross the room back to his bed. He could not see her but he could hear her. "Are you sure you don't need the doctor, Boston?"

The name of the city brought the dream back and it took Chuck a moment to find himself there in the Idaho dark. "Yes, I've...I've had the dream before. It has this effect on me."

He heard her sigh. She had crouched down again. He could hear her breathing, then he heard her whisper. "You're a handful, you know that?"

He could feel her face close to him. He could smell soap, the clean scent of it. Then he felt Carina's lips on his, as he had earlier in the day. This time her kiss lingered. She pulled back and stood. "A handful, I have to say." She chuckled. He heard her pick up the candle and tiptoe from the room. He hardly knew how to react.

The first kiss had seemed a mere thanks. This one seemed...more.

* * *

Saturday, September 5, 1885  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

Chuck was sitting at the kitchen table in Mrs. Fitzsimmons' house. He had half a biscuit on a small plate in front of him, smothered in Mrs. Fitzsimmons' amazing strawberry preserves. He was drinking a third cup of coffee. It was still early. The landlady was buzzing in and out of the kitchen, talking as fast as she could about people Chuck did not know, although presumably, he would meet them. He was not paying much attention.

The dream of the night before had stayed with him, not that it was replaying before his mind's eye, but rather that it had colored his mood, made him stretched and anxious. Carina's kiss had added to his anxiety. He had not sorted his reaction to that out yet - not even close.

Carina had not yet been down to breakfast, and Chuck knew that lingering over his coffee and biscuit was not the best idea. He needed to sort out his reaction to her kiss and he knew he would be hard-pressed to do that if she were right there in the kitchen with him. But his appointment with the representatives of the town was scheduled at 11am, three-and-a-half hours away. Unsure what to do with himself in the meantime, he sat, half a cup of coffee and half a biscuit, hoping Carina would not come to breakfast - and hoping that she would.

Chuck had just taken a bite of biscuit when Mrs. Fitzsimmons came into the kitchen, trailing a large man. The man had his hat in his hands, and his hands were huge, his fingers thick and calloused, tree roots. Two guns were strapped to him, one tied down to each leg. Heavy, dusty boots were on his feet, obscured by his light brown pants. Above them, he had on a blue shirt and a dark brown vest. A star hung from the vest, shining through the dust.

The man had a long grey beard and tired blue eyes. Taking in Chuck at a glance, he waited for Mrs. Fitzsimmons to see to the introductions.

"Mr. Bartowski, our new school teacher, meet Mark Constance, Idaho Falls' sheriff."

Chuck finished his bite and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin. He stood up. "Good morning, Sheriff Constance."

The sheriff shook Chuck's hand, still considering him.

He sat down, heavy. "Mr. Bartowski. I'm plumb sorry your trip to Idaho Falls took such a turn. That Number Gang has been givin' me fits. I'm a patient man; the bad men make a mistake, and the job is waiting for that mistake, but, I admit, I've been waiting and waiting where that bunch is concerned and I just keep waiting. Had a good tip that they holed up way outside of town in an old line shack. Took my deputy and went out there. Wasted trip.

"I unnerstan' they got the strongbox, the Walker payroll?"

"I guess so," Chuck answered, "They emptied a strongbox of lots of cash. It seemed to have been their primary aim. They took a watch from one passenger and a bracelet and locket from the other."

"'Primary aim', huh? I guess you _are_ here to teach. The other passenger: she's here, ain't she?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, but she has not yet come to breakfast."

"Did they take anythin' from you?"

"No. Well, an apple. They took the apple I had with me."

"The cowboy whose watch they took, Casey, I talked t' him earlier. He told me that but it sounded a lil'...crazy. Which one did it?"

"The one they called Number Two. I mean, Number Two. He's the one - I mean, he did it. Number Two."

The sheriff grinned at Chuck's numbering trouble. "He's one mean sumbitch, that Number Two. But Number One is the real killer. Cold as a mountain creek but filthy as a flooded river. I don't fancy being on the wrong end of his gun. What can you tell me about them?"

Chuck shrugged, embarrassed. "Not much, to be honest. Number Two had green eyes. And I noticed, when he pulled up the bandanna covering his face, that he had a gold tooth among his bottom teeth. I noticed when he took a bite of my apple."

The sheriff gave Chuck a look. "That's more than I had before. The few other living witnesses was terrified, couldn't remember anythin', although Casey remembered the eye color too."

Sheriff Constance stood. He looked at Mrs. Fitzsimmons who had been listening, watching the sheriff. "Tell that Miss Miller I want to see her whenever she finishes her beauty sleep - although from what I hear, she needs little." The sheriff looked at Chuck and Chuck blushed. If the sheriff noticed it, he did not let on.

Constance left the kitchen. Mrs. Fitzsimmons followed him, telling him she would show him out and that she would send Miss Miller to as soon as she finished breakfast.

Chuck heard the door close and a moment later Mrs. Fitzsimmons came back in the kitchen. She was blushing herself. "That Sheriff Constance - he's a...fine man."

"He seemed like it," Chuck offered. He drank the last of his coffee and, thanking Mrs. Fitzsimmons, headed to his room.

Running his eyes along the shelf of books Miss Reynolds had left behind, he noted a small hardback copy of Emerson's _Representative Men_ and a copy of Shakespeare's _Hamlet. _After a moment's hesitation, Chuck slipped the Emerson into his jacket pocket - he was wearing his Boston suit - and headed out to take a walk around Idaho Falls.

He needed to locate the schoolhouse both for the sake of his curiosity and since he would meet the representatives there later.

* * *

It didn't take long to walk around Idaho Falls. 'Around' was not the right word, really. Mrs. Fitzsimmons' house, surrounded by flowers, was on one end of the long, dusty main street. The Bar None, dark and quiet in the daylight, was in the middle. On the other end, distant, was the new schoolhouse. He must have ridden past it in the dark last night without realizing it.

Chuck started for the schoolhouse. Along the way, he noticed various shops and businesses: Patel's Dry Goods Emporium, The Montgomery Law Office, the Post Office, Dr. Woodcomb's, Large Mart Hardware, the Sheriff's (also the jail), Graham's Mortuary. Chuck didn't pay close attention to any or to their names; he just sauntered along, musing and hatless. His white hat had seemed wrong with his Boston clothes, the bowler seemed wrong with Idaho Falls.

Few people were out, it was still early on a Saturday, and they were intent on their business. A few who Chuck passed spoke or smiled, but several walked on as if he wasn't there. Chuck noted each man.

One mother, leading a young girl by the hand, passed by. The mother did not speak, but the girl stared at Chuck's dark city suit. He smiled at her. She asked her mom (Chuck heard her behind him), "Does that tall man bury people for Mr. Graham?"

"No, Honey, I believe that was your new teacher."

"Oh." Disappointment.

Chuck considered turning and introducing himself, but decided against it. Time enough for all that next week. He stopped as he neared the schoolhouse.

He turned then, rotating in place, and gazed behind him, around him, all around. Two smaller streets ran parallel to the main street, although neither was as long. From his glimpses, gotten as he walked and from what he saw now, each looked residential, housing shopkeepers and their families, people who worked in town. In the distance, he could see Mrs. Fitzsimmons' house. Beyond her house and all around was the open Idaho sky, blue and blue, an all-seeing eye, focused on everything and nothing. He looked at the schoolhouse, sitting, neat, beneath the blue in its fresh white paint. The sign in front read: _Idaho Falls School. Church services on Sunday. _Chuck remembered then that a letter had mentioned that the schoolhouse would do double-duty, school by week, church by weekend.

The building was rectangular. There was a bell tower on the front, stretching up above the red roof, and Chuck could see a bell, shiny in the morning sun. The front door was red above the steps leading up to it. It was an attractive building.

Beyond it to the left was a small hill, topped by a grove of trees. To the right, was the train depot. It was still under construction. Chuck could have shortened his long journey if he had traveled by train, but his lack of funds prevented it. Even if he had the funds, a bridge had fallen between Idaho Falls and Cody, and it would be another month before the train began to run again. He had been told that in another letter.

Chuck pulled his small, cheap watch from his pocket. (He could afford no chain, not even a fob.) Still lots of time before his meeting. He walked up the hill toward the grove of trees.

* * *

The grove of trees turned out to be beside the cemetery. Chuck could not tell that from below. The discovery suited Chuck's mood. A huge tree stood in the center of the grove, and someone had constructed an encircling bench around its massive trunk. Chuck opened the cemetery gate, walked to the tree, and sat down, his elbows on his knees, his head cast down. He stared at the ground.

It had all been so much. The obsession, the travel and then the hold-up - and then the dream and Carina's kiss in the dark. Everything jumbled his head and his heart. He missed Ellie and he missed Molly. And Morgan. Ellie had not wanted him to go to Idaho Falls. She had not understood his reasons, though she divined something else behind his story about teaching. Chuck would worry about that something else soon, as the situation came into better focus. First, he needed to get himself established in the town. Second, he needed to practice with his gun. Then he could plan. No mistakes; this had to be done...right.

Chuck pushed the thought from his mind as best he could. He reached into his pocket and took out the small volume of Emerson, paging to the Swedenborg essay, _Swedenborg; Or, the Mystic_. Chuck had read it many times back in Boston...at Harvard...at Divinity School.

Skimming over the first paragraph, introductory, he settled back against the tree and read.

"_I have sometimes thought __that __he would render the greatest service to modern criticism, who shall draw the line of relation that subsists between Shakespeare and Swedenborg. The human mind stands ever in perplexity, demanding intellect, demanding sanctity, impatient __equally __of each without the other. The reconciler has not yet appeared. If we tire of the saints, Shakespeare is our city of refuge. Yet the instincts __presently __teach, that the problem of essence must take precedence of all others,—the questions of Whence? What? and Whither? and __the solution of_ _these must be in a life, and not in a book. A drama or poem is a proximate or oblique reply; but Moses, Menu, Jesus, work __directly __on this problem. The atmosphere of moral sentiment is a region of grandeur which reduces all material magnificence to toys, yet opens to every wretch that has reason, the doors of the universe. Almost with a fierce haste it lays its empire on the man..."_

In the past, Chuck found those words heartening. Now, he found them disheartening. He closed the book and leaned more heavily against the trunk of the tree. In a moment, he was asleep.

* * *

_Fever. He was burning up with fever. Swedenborg, Shakespeare, Jill, Molly, Ellie. Idaho Falls. __He_ _was nine. __He_ _was much older. __He_ _was burning, burning up. Visions, dreams. Fever dreams…_

_Kill a man. Kill a man. I am not a killer. Fever. Fire, Fire, Fire!_

_..._

"Mister," a soft voice, a cool hand, gloved, on his forehead, "Mister, you're dreaming. Wake up!"

Chuck opened his eyes to the sky.

No, he opened his eyes to her blue eyes. Infinite. Blue encircled, a halo, by gold. He beheld the most beautiful face of his life.

"What?" Chuck stammered. "Where am I? What am I doing here? Who are you?"

"Be calm; don't fear." A kind, worried smile. "You were dreaming. You're in the Falls, Idaho Falls. I'm Sarah. I don't know who you are, yet." She smiled and he reacted to it so strongly it registered as physical pain and shortness of breath, a momentary attack of the heart.

The Emerson was open, face-down on his chest. He sat up straight, grabbed the book and looked at the woman, who had stood up and taken a step back. Her worry seemed to have shifted into gentle amusement. She was wearing a light blue dress, the blue on a slow journey to white, and she had a small bouquet in her gloved hand.

"I'm Charles Bartowski - _Chuck_, people call me - I'm the new schoolteacher."

She tilted her head a little and her smile grew. "Chuck?" She pronounced his name as if she were testing it. Her gaze softened. "I like it. I haven't heard it much. So you're from Boston?"

"You know about me?" He put the Emerson on the bench beside him.

She shrugged. "Just a little. Folks have been talking about the new teacher coming. They seem to believe they are lucky to have gotten you. Harvard, right?"

He nodded and she went on. "That exhausts what I know about you…" She seemed to be waiting for him.

He stood. "Forgive my manners. I'm...out of sorts today. Long, difficult journey and a strange night."

"I heard my father talking to Sheriff Constance." Her face changed expression. "That's all...terrible. I didn't know Bob, but I saw him come into town now and then. He seemed like a nice man..."

"He did. But I didn't know him. I wish I could have helped him…"

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes full of something he could not quite name, although sympathy was mixed with it. "I heard of your bravery. And I can see from your face, forgive me, that you paid a price for it."

Chuck had forgotten his bruising. He ducked his head self-consciously and noticed her flowers again. "I must have kept you from your...errand."

She looked down at the flowers too and they were both quiet for a moment. "Oh, yes, I am here to put these on my mother's grave."

The quiet became heavy. Chuck cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. My parents died when I was small; I know what it is to lose…"

"That's kind, Chuck. Thank you." She gave him a soft look, but decisive, as if she had expected no less. "I often come on Saturdays and...visit her."

Chuck held up his hands. "I don't mean to interrupt...or intrude."

Her smile had left her face but now it returned. "This is often a lonely errand for me. My dad...well, he doesn't come. Would you like to?" She was now holding the flowers in both her gloved hands in front of her. Chuck heard music as he looked at her, soft, woodwinds.

"Yes," he said, his voice quieting the music. "It would honor me."

She turned and left the shade of the tree. He walked beside her, stealing a glance at her bowed head. They stopped before a small stone, marked simply.

_Emma Walker, Wife and Mother. _

Sarah stooped down and pulled three long, thin weeds that had grown in front of the stone. Brushing its top, removing dust and some faded flowers, and keeping the faded ones in her hand, she then put her fresh bouquet there. She shut her eyes.

Chuck stood still. A long silence. A dusty breeze. Sarah opened her eyes and stood. She looked at him, her eyes damp. "At Harvard - they say you were studying to be a...minister?"

Chuck flinched inwardly but kept himself still outwardly. "Something like that…"

"Do you know some words, something to say?"

Chuck spoke without hesitation and without thinking:

"_You now must hear my voice no more;  
My Father calls me home;  
But soon from heav'n the Holy Ghost,  
Your Comforter, shall come.  
That heav'nly Teacher, sent from God,  
shall your whole soul inspire,  
Your minds shall fill with sacred truth,  
__your hearts with sacred fire."_

Sarah looked at him, her eyes wondering.

Chuck blushed. "I'm sorry, maybe that was inappropriate. It just flashed into my mind." Chuck cursed himself. He knew better than to speak without consideration. When he did, he spiraled, often into irrelevance or into downright inappropriateness.

Sarah placed her gloved hand on his arm. "No, that was...beautiful, somehow. Thank you, Chuck."

He nodded, glad not to have offended her. She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, removed her hand. "It was good meeting you. I...have to go. My father and I are having dinner with my fiancé." Sarah looked at him but did not meet his eyes.

"Your fiancé?" Chuck kept his voice neutral, barely.

"Yes," she said, gazing at the faded flowers in her hand instead of meeting his gaze, "Daniel Shaw."

The blow was two-fisted. Sarah was engaged. Sarah was engaged to the man Chuck had vowed to kill.

* * *

A/N2: Thoughts?

This chapter was early. Don't know when the next one will post.


	4. Preachments

A/N1: Still constructing our theater of action: the setting, and the currents and cross-currents.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR:

_Preachments_

* * *

Saturday, September 5, 1885  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

_Preaching is the communication of truth by man to men._

_\- L__ectures on __Preaching__, _Phillips Brooks

* * *

Chuck walked beside Sarah to the cemetery gate.

Neither had spoken after she named her fiancé. Chuck was too shaken to speak - for a panoply of reasons, his insides swirling.

Sarah's reaction to speaking it was hard for Chuck to understand. She had looked for a moment at the lifeless bouquet in her hands. Unmoving, she stood as if she were unaware of her position in the world. Just before Chuck would have forced himself to speak, she raised her head, and he saw a series of expressions, each restrained, small, unreadable, but culminating in a rueful smile, cascade across her remarkable face. She said nothing more; she started for the gate. Chuck spurred himself into motion, catching up with her and, at the fence, opening the gate for her.

She paused after she was through the gate - turning, she placed the bouquet down on a small pile Chuck had not noticed when he went through the gate: a pile of similar but still browner bouquets, each tied, like the one she had carried in, with a thin yellow ribbon.

After placing the bouquet there, she stood and reached up, her hands behind her head. Her hair was caught in a plain ponytail, tied with a thick, sky-blue ribbon. Her hair fell after she tugged on one end of the ribbon, fell long and straight around her face. Winding the ribbon in her hand, she reached across the fence and caught Chuck's forearm. Unsure what was happening, he raised his arm. She slid her hand down his sleeve to his hand and turned it palm-up. She put the ribbon in his hand.

"A _thanks_ for your words, Chuck." Her tone was downcast despite her upturned lips. She said no more and walked down the hill.

Chuck watched her for a moment, then looked down at the ribbon, lovely, wound in his hand. His eyes sought her retreating form again; he almost called out. His tongue was heavy, unwieldy. He watched her go, confused and silent.

What had the whole encounter meant? What had happened? Maybe it was his earlier dreams, but the whole encounter with Sarah felt dreamlike, yet more real than real.

_A vision_. _Or maybe _not _a vision. _Just..._really_ real.

Closing his hand around the blue ribbon, his strand of her sky, he walked, halting, back to the tree, lost in thought. The Emerson book rested on the encircling bench. He picked it up and returned it to his jacket pocket. He added the ribbon to it.

The dusty breeze kicked up again and he remembered his appointment. He pulled his watch from his pocket. He was already fifteen minutes late. _Oh, no! _He sprinted back to the gate, through it, down the hill to the schoolhouse.

Sarah was nowhere in sight but he had no time to think about her - or about her accursed fiancé. _Later. _

He climbed the front stairs two at a time. The red doors stood open.

* * *

Chuck slid to a stop, panting.

Three people, two women, and one man sat behind a large desk that stood on a raised section of the floor. _The Judgment Seat. _Behind them, taking up much of the back wall of the main room, was a long, slate board, green. Names were chalked on it: _Diane Beckman, Langston Graham, Athaliah Justus. _

The three people looked at Chuck with annoyed displeasure. On Chuck's left was a tall, thin, ageless woman, upright in her chair. Her long black hair was pulled back, a scrupulous bun. In the middle was an attractive, sharp-eyed woman, short, no longer young but not yet old, with red hair. On Chuck's right was a large man, black, his look of displeasure melting into one of slight amusement.

Chuck held up his hands. "Please, ladies, gentleman, please forgive me. I was reading and...I lost track of time."

"Well," the black man said, glancing at the two women, "he's absent-minded enough to be our teacher. You are Mr. Bartowski, correct?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I'm Langston Graham. Mrs. Justus - that 'J' sounds like a 'Y' - went to the trouble of putting our names on the board. I fear she suspects you cannot read and intends it as a test." Graham gave Chuck a smile, and Chuck could tell the smile was half for him and half for Mrs. Justus. Mr. Graham gestured to a chair beside Chuck. "I believe that chair is for you. Please sit."

Chuck sat. The woman in the middle, frowning, put her hand down on a flat leather case on the desk. "Mr. Bartowski. I am Diane Beckman. My husband is Bernard Beckman, the mayor of Idaho Falls. The town has appointed me the President of the School Board, and Mr. Graham and Mrs. Justus are the other members. This board is a new creation; we have only been in place for a week. A letter informing you would have missed you. And you knew you would meet us, if not our formal title.

"We wanted to meet you today to welcome you to our town. We have heard about your...misfortune...traveling, and so we will overlook this morning's lack of punctuality. Please do not take that indulgence as permission for future tardiness It will not do to have a tardy teacher." A faint smile played on her face.

Chuck smiled and nodded. "Thank you. Again, I apologize. I appreciate the welcome very much and..."

"This is not _just_ a welcome," Mrs. Justus interrupted, "we have some questions for you. Although we have hired you, we would still like for you to...put our minds at ease about...yourself. There has been some _disagreement _about you - no reason to conceal that fact..."

Graham shook his head slightly. "Mr. Bartowski, despite how that sounds, you are our teacher and we will not be letting you go _without cause._" Graham shot a look at Mrs. Justus, who worked hard to ignore it, failed. She did not return Graham's look but her taut frown tightened. "But it would be good to tackle these things head-on" - another look at Mrs. Justus - "so we can start the year with a clean," he paused and looked at the board, "or an almost clean slate."

"Right," Mrs. Beckman broke in, "if you don't mind, _may_ we ask you some questions?"

"I am happy to answer any questions I may answer."

Mrs. Beckman's eyes narrowed at Chuck's phrasing, but she went on, opening the leather case and removing a stack of papers, smoothing them as she spoke. "We were most impressed by an applicant with your academic background, Mr. Bartowski. Early entrance to Harvard on scholarship, lifted into the Divinity School two years later. The recommendations from your Divinity School professors, particularly from Professor Abbot and Professor Toy, testify to your gifts and your character. But they both note that you left the Divinity School without completing your degree. Each man declines, as a gentleman, to discuss the circumstances. Yet each recommends you in the highest terms. According to Professor Abbot, the hope of the faculty was to enlist you among their number when you graduated - as a Professor of Homiletics. Is that correct?"

Chuck did not answer immediately. "Which part, ma'am?"

Her face, slackened to matter-of-factness, returned to displeasure. Chuck hurried into response. "Yes, ma'am. I got an early scholarship to Harvard. And I moved into the Divinity School early. And, yes, I left the Divinity School without graduating." Chuck stopped, extending his bottom lip to cover his upper, then went on. "I decline to discuss the circumstances. I am obliged to Professors Abbot and Toy for their discretion. As to my joining the faculty, I suppose I had heard talk of such, but I never presumed to believe that talk. I was just a student."

Graham leaned toward Chuck. "Not according to your letter writers, Mr. Bartowski. Mr. Abbot called you 'a once-in-a-lifetime student, brilliant, with a mind of powers capacious yet exact'," Graham smiled, self-satisfied, "...I memorized that part, it was so good." Mrs. Beckman laughed.

"And just what is..._Homiletics_...Mr. Bartowski?" Mrs. Justus asked, holding the word by its edges.

"It is the study of preaching. Perhaps you know Phillips Brooks great book, _Lectures on __Preaching_?"

"No, Mr. Bartowski. I read only _The __Book__, The __Book_ _of __Books_. It contains all other books."

"All?" Chuck asked without thinking, raising his brows, "How so?"

Mrs. Justus pinched her lips. "All truth is contained in the Bible, Mr. Bartowski. I would expect a young man of such distinction, and from such a distinguished school, to _know_ that. I would expect that to be your _First Principle_."

Chuck took a moment. "Mrs. Justus, I have a deep respect for the Bible." He stopped there.

"And you have _nothing_ to tell us about your reasons for leaving the Divinity School." Mrs. Justus pressed him.

"It's not that I have nothing _to_ tell - it's rather that I have nothing I _may_ tell." Chuck could not stifle the color he felt rise on his face. All three at the desk saw it. Chuck's hands started to tremble. He pressed them on his legs.

"Well, I _still_ find it passing strange that a young man with your background would want to teach school children in Idaho Falls. There must be some..._explanation._"

"Mrs. Justus, I found my studies at the Divinity School wonderful, but I also found that my good intentions were becoming mere beliefs. I wanted to do good, not just have true beliefs about what is good. I wanted - I want to work directly on the problems of life. Coming here to teach is me doing good, acting on good intentions, working directly on the problems of life." Chuck's hands furled, fists. He saw them and unfurled them, an act of will. _I_'_m telling the truth __-_ _just not the whole truth. __I_ _am here to teach. __I_ _will teach. Until..._

"That seems like a good answer to me," Graham offered, hoping to bring the conversation to an end.

"No, there is one more thing," Mrs. Justus insisted. Graham's shoulders slumped. "Mr. Bartowski. The railroad camp - the camp where the bridge repair is going on - has attracted an...undesirable...element to our town. Certain...women...have come to Idaho Falls and continue to come, women who...work...for Anna Wu. At the Bar None. A few of them have _children_, children of questionable origins. Two are school age. I have been told that the women intend to send their children to school here. How will you _prevent_ that, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Mrs. Justus…" Graham growled.

"Why would I prevent it, Mrs. Justus," Chuck asked, jumping in, "surely the children, if they live in town, should be schooled here, by me?"

"Mr. Bartowski. They are the children of sinners."

"So will all my students be."

"What?" Mrs. Justus' face whitened. "What? I will have you know my daughter will be one of your students."

Chuck looked at her and nodded. "Just so."

Mrs. Justus' hands shook. She hid them in her lap. Sputtered. "Are you implying..?"

"Mrs. Justus," Chuck offered, his voice kind. "I am implying nothing untoward. But as I understand it, the category of _sinner _is misused if the person using it does not include himself or herself in it. It is a category that unites us, it doesn't divide us. It aggregates, not segregates. Doesn't _The __Book_ _of __Books_ say, 'All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God'?"

Mrs. Justus sputtered. "But...But..._The __Devil_ quoted Scripture, Mr. Bartowski."

"He quoted the _words_, Mrs. Justus. He did not understand what they meant. In his mouth, they meant nothing."

"You...You...So you will teach the children of _whores_?"

"Yes."

"And if we order you…"

"That will not happen, Athaliah," Beckman said, cutting Mrs. Justus off. "You _know_ that. We are the school board and we have voted."

Mrs. Justus glared at Chuck, then at the others seated beside her. "We will see," she hissed, "once school starts, once the townsfolk understand the situation…"

"_Enough_, Athaliah, we have _voted_. We expected Mr. Bartowski to agree with our decision and he does." She returned Mrs. Justus' glare and at last Mrs. Justus looked away. "I think we have all we need from you, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman commented. She picked up the stack of papers and put them in the leather case. She gave Mrs. Justus another glare, warning, then she turned to Chuck. "We're glad you are here. More than glad, Mr. Bartowski. We're _excited_ to have you here. This is a remarkable opportunity for the children of Idaho Falls."

Mrs. Justus got up, too angry to stay seated, and grabbed a rag. She began to wipe the names from the green board. Mr. Graham watched her, shaking his head. When she finished, she threw the rag on the desk and stomped around the desk, stumbling when she stepped down from the raised platform but, righting herself, she passed Chuck without acknowledging him.

Mrs. Beckman waited for Mrs. Justus to get out the door, then she followed. But she stopped by Chuck's chair. An apology was in her eyes. "We're sorry about this but we felt we had to do it. We had to allow her to have her moment, have her say; I hope it's done now."

She looked back to the front of the room. "Langston will stay behind to show you around. My husband, the mayor, has need of me, or I would stay too. I look forward to getting to know you better, Mr. Bartowski."

"Thank you, Mrs. Beckman."

Mr. Graham stood. "We hope the school suits you, Mr. Bartowski. Everything is new. On Sundays, this is the church, but we will make few changes for that, all temporary. A lectern is placed here on the desk, but other than that, we will not disturb the classroom. Well, hymnals get put out too, but we will see to replacing them after services. You won't have to contend with any of that, although, if you should want to attend, you would be welcome."

He walked around the desk and stepped down from the raised platform. Chuck stood. Mr. Graham was nearly as tall as Chuck. "Between us - Chuck, if I may, call me Langston - it might be a good idea to attend at first. I hate to be pragmatic about religious matters, but I have a feeling you have thought a great deal about such things. Anyway, it's up to you and I want you to know you have my support whatever you decide."

Chuck looked at the man, glad he was an ally, not an enemy. "You know what Samuel Johnson said…" Langston cocked his head, waiting. "He said something like: if I go to a place where they talk of runts, I shall learn to talk of runts."

Langston smiled. "Meaning..?"

"Meaning I would like to be part of the life of Idaho Falls, not just a spectator." _Until I kill a man. _

Langston laughed. "What is a runt, Mr. Bartowski?"

Shrugging and laughing too, Chuck confessed: "I've never been sure."

Langston showed Chuck around the school building. It was as expected most of it, although he was happy to see that the books he had mentioned for students had been purchased and were in crates in the storage room.

As they finished up and reached the open doors, Chuck stopped. "May I ask you an awkward question, Langston?"

"We just asked you several. Turn-about is fair play."

Chuck took a moment, unsure of how to ask his question. Langston smiled. "You want to know how a black man ended up on the school board in Idaho Falls, in this Year of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-five."

Chuck blushed and managed a self-conscious nod.

"My wife and I got out of South Carolina after the war. We headed west. We were lucky enough to make it here.

"As a boy, I had worked for an undertaker once in a while. He was the brother of the man who...owned...me. I knew the trade. No one here did. We settled. I won't say they have embraced us with open arms, not everyone, not by a long shot." He shook his head.

"But there are decent people here, people who do and believe the right things, at least when push comes to shove. We've made friends. It's not a bad life,. We've done well enough to send our son to college back east. My wife and I both believe in education. _A candle in a dark room, _eh, Chuck?"

Chuck felt the darkness inside him, stirring, knew it had been stirring on his long journey and that it had sped up when Sarah mentioned Daniel Shaw.

He was a teacher, not a killer. But he would kill Daniel Shaw.

"Yes…" he said, feeling like a liar though he believed the words, "a light in a dark room."

* * *

Chuck walked back to Mrs. Fitzsimmons'.

He needed time, quiet. So much had happened. So much was happening. The flowers around the front of the house seemed to mock him - _They toil not, neither do they spin. _Chuck was toiling, spinning inside.

In the kitchen, he called out Mrs. Fitzsimmons' name but got no answer. The house was quiet. He could hear the mantle clock in the living room ticking. Following the sound, he passed through the living room and down the hallway to his room. He opened the door.

Carina Miller sat in the armchair. Her red skirt was gathered up, revealing her delicate white leather boots and her bare ankles. Her boots were resting on his bed. She had Chuck's gun in her hand, and his Swedenborg book open in her lap, her head down, reading. Chuck froze. She looked up at him and grinned.

"Carina, what are you doing here?"

She shrugged and he went on, closing the door quietly behind him. "Aren't you the one who said we shouldn't be seen together?"

"Guilty as charged," she said, mimicking Chuck's whisper. "But I came in your window. Notice it's on the backside of the house, and one girl told me that Mrs. Fitzsimmons usually _steps out_ with Sheriff Constance early on Saturday afternoons. I don't think we're in much danger…" She made her eyes big as if frightened, then she laughed.

"Besides, I needed to see you and I will be busy later. Railroad camp boys heading our way." She observed his face. Chuck glanced at her ankles. She picked up her gathered skirt and threw it out, over them, then put her feet on the floor. "And I thought my _shoulders_ panicked you."

Ignoring her comment, Chuck walked between Carina and the bed. He sat perched on the window sill. She shook her head at him. "Boston, Boston, Boston, whatever am I going to do with you?" Her eyes seemed full of suggestions, so Chuck looked at the floor. The blue of Carina's eyes made Chuck very aware of the ribbon in his jacket pocket.

"I came to ask a favor. One girl, she's got a son. He's ten. Another has a daughter, eight. They want the kids to go to school here. They've mentioned it to a few people, I guess, and they were told it would be okay - but when they heard that you and I _know _each other, they pressed me to ask, since they are worried you'll say no. I told them you'll say yes. So which is it?"

Chuck shook his head. Carina looked worried for a second. "No, no. I'm not shaking my head in answer, just at the coincidence. And I don't mean no. No, I mean yes. Yes, yes, I mean _yes. _I just told the school board so, and they had voted to allow it."

Carina's worried look gave way to a thoughtful one. "Really? Well, you don't surprise me, Boston, but Idaho Falls does. I'm guessing the vote was not unanimous, though?"

"No, I take it that the vote was 2-1. There's a woman, a Mrs. Justus, the 'Y' is actually a 'J'," Carina lifted an eyebrow at that, "who is against it."

"Of course, there is. And I know her. I don't mean your Mrs. Justus in particular, just her type. They're strewn thickly in the Western dust, I fear. Their Bibles should come with holsters."

Chuck started to say something but stopped. He went a different direction, pointed at the book on Carina's lap. "I thought you didn't read Swedenborg?"

"No, Chuck, I said I _hadn't_ read Swedenborg. Can't say I've missed much. This tome is damn heavy - and damn wordy. Can't believe you lugged it all the way out here. And this," she leafed to the front of the book with her one free hand, to a black and white portrait of Swedenborg, "this...what's it called? _Frontispiece?_ It's just disturbing. Why do you have this?" She nodded at the book. "And why do you have this?" She held up Chuck's gun. "I remember that Two mentioned a gun when he looked in your pillowcase, but I didn't...believe it." Her eyes were big again, but she was not pretending. "Who travels with these two things together, Chuck?"

"I guess I do." He didn't continue, although Carina waited.

"Okay, Boston, if you don't want to talk today, maybe you will another day."

"Why are you rifling through my drawers, Carina?"

She gave him a wide, wicked smile. "If I were rifling through your drawers, you would not have to ask why. I didn't rifle any drawers. I rummaged through a pillowcase. You ought to unpack, you know."

"You were just curious?"

Her smile left her face and her eyes took on the concerned look they had when she woke him from his dream in the night. "I was wondering. That fever dream of yours. You said it was terrible. I can see how traveling with _Heaven and Hell _and a loaded pistol might contribute to, or might have something to do with such dreams." Again, she waited.

"Nothing to tell, Carina. I got interested in Swedenborg in college. I brought the gun for self-protection."

Carina's look sharpened at that final word. "You don't strike me as the self-protective type, Boston." She shook her head. "But I will let it go. Let. It. Go. One girl, the one with the son, she says her boy has some peculiar troubles with reading. She's hoping she might pay you for some extra tutoring?"

"No need. Let me settle in, then I can talk to her about her son."

Carina stood, placing the book and gun on the bed. Since she was standing, Chuck could better see the bright red dress. It hugged her body. Noticing his look, she held up her arms, bent, turning side to side. "You think the railroad boys will like it?"

"Yes, Carina, I do."

Now, she started to say something but stopped. She walked to him. "See you around, teacher."

Chuck stood up. She squeezed past him, the squeezing deliberate, and opened the window. She cupped his cheek, kissed him, gathered up her skirt and - a final flash of her ankles - she vanished.

Touching his lips, Chuck shook his head. _Confusion. _

Carina.

Sarah.

The school board.

The Number Gang.

Boston.

Sarah.

Daniel Shaw.

Chuck stepped to the bed and picked up the book in one hand, the gun in the other. He spoke aloud to himself: "For it is written Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." Chuck saw himself in the dresser mirror, standing there. He shook his head, spoke aloud again. "The Devil quoting Scripture."

* * *

Chuck was in his room, restless. He had unloaded his gun, cleaned it, and reloaded it. The Emerson book back on the shelf. _Hamlet _was in his lap. It was not the focus of his attention. The blue ribbon in his hand was.

It was dusk and noise from the Bar None had gone up. Music carried to Chuck's room. Riders entered the town, riding past Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. The pulse of Idaho Falls had quickened. Revelry was about to break out. It all added to Chuck's restlessness. He caressed the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. His mind would not stay focused. He heard shouts, laughter.

In his mind, he pictured his earlier parting with Sarah. He, inside the cemetery fence, she outside it. Her gloved hand placing the ribbon in his. Casey had told him that there was no future in thinking of Carina Miller. There was less in thinking of Sarah Walker.

A knock on the door brought him out of his dismal spiral. "Yes?"

"Mr. Bartowski, I have a letter for you."

"Please, come in."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons entered. She had on an attractive apricot dress. Her hair was up. As she stepped in, Chuck stood, putting the ribbon in his pocket, Shakespeare on the bed. "Mrs. Fitzsimmons, that is a handsome dress."

She blushed and tried to hide it by holding out an envelope. "Penelope, at the Post Office, said this came for you yesterday but she held it until today. She gave it to me earlier, while I was out...walking."

Chuck took the letter. He recognized his sister's handwriting, her small neat pen. "Thank you, Mrs. Fitzsimmons."

She nodded and left the room. Chuck, staring at the letter, walked back to his armchair. Seated, he opened it.

_Dear Brother,_

_I don't have time for a long letter. It is a fine day and Molly wants to go to the park. But I wanted you to have something from home when you arrived in that distant place. Idaho Falls. I still don't understand why you have gone. You could have taught here, if teaching is to be your vocation. I connect your leaving with whatever has changed you in the past months. _

_I thought you had gotten past blaming yourself for mother and father. But you have reverted, become as a man much as you were when a nine-year-old boy. Haunted. Staring too often into space. What happened to you, Chuck, to mother and father __-_ _what did not happen to me __-_ _it was all _happenstance_, chance, or the will of God. You are not to blame. You were never to blame. B__e happy_ _in that new place, brother. Stop accusing yourself, stop despairing you have caused __-_ _or must correct __-_ _all the world's evils. _

_Please write to me. I miss you so already and you have just left. Molly does too, and she sends her love. Morgan as well._

_Start over, Chuck. __Be happy__. Shake off the memories. Find someone there to love._

_I love you. _

_Your Sister_

Chuck read the letter several times. He paced in his room. The noise from the Bar None rose. Chuck got ready for bed. Squeezing the pillow around his head, he eventually found sleep.

* * *

Sunday, September 6, 1885

* * *

With a small Bible from Miss Reynold's shelf of books in his hand, blue ribbon in the pocket of his black Boston suit, Chuck walked to the schoolhouse. The Bar None was dark and empty in the full Sunday sunlight as he passed it. His mind flicked to Carina; he forced himself to refocus.

Carriages and wagons gathered around the schoolhouse. People were milling about, talking in low voices, laughing softly. Silence fell as Chuck arrived. He climbed the stairs and went into the schoolhouse. As Langston had said, a lectern had been placed on the desk. A list of numbers was on the board - the hymns for the day, Chuck reckoned. Below the numbers was a scriptural reference: _John 10: 1-9. _

Chuck sat down on a bench. He heard a low murmur of voices as he did. He looked around at the people. He saw Langston Graham and his wife. Both smiled. He saw Diane Beckman and a short, energetic-looking man, the mayor, beside her. She waved; he nodded. He did not see Mrs. Justus.

Then he saw her. Not Mrs. Justus. Sarah Walker. She had on a plain white frock and a plain white hat. She seemed to be aglow with light, to be a light. Chuck blinked and then noticed the man beside her, her hand grasped in his. _Daniel Shaw. _It was him. The black hair, the black eyes, the resting smirk on his face. He noticed Chuck. For a second, Chuck felt the world in the balance. Shaw nodded politely and looked away. Chuck let his breath escape. There was no reason Daniel Shaw should know Chuck. They had never met. But Chuck knew him, knew what he was. Shaw was wearing a black jacket over a white shirt. He seemed completely and utterly at ease, masterful. _The Crowned Prince._

Chuck realized that Sarah was looking at him. He looked at her and she gave him a kind smile. At that moment, Shaw leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She turned to him, laughing softly.

The mayor, Mr. Beckman, stood up and announced a number, the first one listed on the board. A general rustle of pages followed. Chuck added to the sound, picking up a hymnal and turning to the hymn. _The Lord's My Shepherd, I'll Not Want. _Chuck knew the hymn and knew the Psalm. The congregation sang together, then Mr. Beckman closed his songbook.

"We will now have our sermon. Our minister, Jack Walker."

A man seated behind Daniel and Sarah stood and walked to the front, up onto the platform and then behind the lectern. He looked out at everyone. "Brothers and Sisters, I want to speak to you today about the Good Shepherd and The Only Door to Pasture…" He glanced toward Daniel Shaw and his daughter. "All of you know that sheep are near and dear to my heart…"

Sarah's father was the preacher?

Chuck glanced back at Sarah and glimpsed her turn away from him, her cheeks flushed. Chuck turned back around. Jack Walker seemed to have noticed both Chuck's glance and Sarah's reddened turn.

And the man Chuck planned to kill was listening to the sermon too.

* * *

A/N2: Thoughts on my little revenge Western about a gifted Harvard Divinity School dropout? I would love to hear from you.


	5. Sheep and Cattle

A/N1: More story.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE:

_Sheep and Cattle_

* * *

Sunday, September 6, 1885  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

_In general, earth's living creatures correspond to affections, the mild and useful ones to good affections, the fierce and useless ones to evil affections. Specifically, cattle and calves correspond to affections of the natural mind, sheep and lambs to affections of the spiritual mind._

\- Emanuel Swedenborg, _Heaven and Hell (110)_

* * *

Jack Walker's sermon had ended - ended with a flailing yet failing crescendo.

The congregation sang one more song, led by the mayor, and then the service ended. Several people crowded around Chuck, introducing themselves (most were parents of children who would start school on Tuesday). They all became a blur after a minute - too many new faces, too many new names.

By the time Chuck freed himself from handshakes and hellos, Sarah was gone.

So too was Daniel Shaw.

As Chuck left the schoolhouse, he had to pass by Jack Walker, who had stationed himself by one of the red doors during the final song and was shaking hands as the congregation filed out.

Jack gave Chuck an unkind smile. "Well, if it isn't Charlie, our new school teacher. It is _Charlie_, right?" He had a remarkable smile, his daughter had inherited it, but a sweeter version.

"No, it's Chuck. I prefer Chuck."

"That's nice, Charlie. I hope my sermon wasn't too torturous for you. I know you are an expert. I had your application materials at my house for a time. Impressive, Charlie, very impressive. Harvard."

There was a press of others behind Chuck and so he went on, down the steps and out into the street. He noticed Devon Woodcomb standing off to the side, his arms crossed, a good-natured smirk on his face. He saw Chuck and waved, then started over.

"How'd you like the sermon, Chuck?"

Chuck shrugged carefully. "It was fine."

Devon eyed him and his smirk returned. "I assume Jack Walker swashbuckled his way through another one?"

Chuck's brown creased. "Swashbuckled?"

"_Swashed_ through the beginning, then _buckled_ during the invitation to the altar?"

Chuck laughed and then caught himself, covering his mouth with his fisted hand, looking around. Jack was still at the top of the steps, a good distance away.

"That's funny. I can't believe I haven't heard that before. I thought I knew all the preacher jokes"

"Right. Almost-Professor of Homiletics as Harvard, or so I have been told. I have heard little about you since I am unmarried and have no children in the schoolhouse sweepstakes. And since I am not one for saloon gossip." He paused and gave Chuck's face an examining look. "You were told to come and see me yesterday. Where were you?"

"I'm sorry, Devon. Frankly, I forgot. A lot went on yesterday."

Devon was listening, but he was still examining Chuck's face. "Good. Good. Not a problem. There's less bruising than I expected and no black eyes. You're tougher than you look, Chuck."

"Maybe. But I think I am okay. I had some bad dreams the night of the hold-up and yesterday, during a nap, but I've had those dreams before; I don't think there were symptomatic."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "Whatever the cause, come and see me if they come back. Have you got plans for dinner?"

"No, Mrs. Fitzsimmons is visiting her sister. She has left me to shift for myself."

"Let's go to Lou's. If we head there now, we can still find a decent table. Most of the church folks bring lunches and, on nice days, eat on the hill, in the grove."

"Not you?"

"No, I don't attend at all, although I know it costs me with folks, some of them already suspect science and medicine to be evil - but I just, well, let's just say that I am a reluctant unbeliever."

Chuck made a puzzled sound. "Don't run into many of those. Most unbelievers are indifferent unbelievers or triumphant unbelievers."

Devon nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Long story. I will tell it someday. Shall we?"

They walked to Lou's. A large front window framed in red and white checked curtains bore the name 'Lou's" in golden letters. Inside, they found a harried, short young woman, flour on her cheek. She blew out a frustrated breath when they asked for a table. "Is the window okay? It's a little warm, but shouldn't be uncomfortable." She didn't wait for them to answer. She walked to the table

"That'd be fine," Devon answered. Lou stayed until they sat, then walked away. Devon watched her go, chewing on his lip. He emerged from his reverie. "She's a sweet woman but she hides it well."

"You know her?"

"Not much. She's involved with a railroad man. She expects him to marry her. When he's not in town, she's...grumpy, and she gets worse the longer he's gone. But when he's in town, she's sweet."

They chatted for a few minutes about the weather in Idaho Falls in September. Lou returned, flourless but fussy. "What'll it be, gents?" Her tone was impatient.

"I'd like a steak," Chuck blurted.

Lou nodded, a hint of a grin on her face. "And you, Doc?"

"The lamb." Lou nodded curtly and left.

"So Jack Walker is the town's preacher?"

"Yes. You don't know about this?"

"New guy. My introduction to the school board yesterday was more about them getting to know me than me getting to know them."

Devon laughed and shook his head. "No big surprise there. It's Beckman and Graham and Justus, right, the board?"

"Yes, that's them."

"Beckman is officious but she's also efficient, and dogged about the things she believes. She's the real mayor, I suspect, not Bernard, her well-meaning, song-leading husband. Graham is a friend of hers; they go back a long time. He's a stand-up guy, even if he works for the wrong team." When Chuck gave Devon a puzzled look, he explained. "Graham's an undertaker; I'm a doctor. Opposite sides. Now, Justus - the less said about her, the better - much time with her would finish me as a _reluctant _unbeliever. If they gave you a hard time, she's the reason."

"Yes, that was obvious. I didn't see her at church today."

Devon sighed. "That's not good. If she stayed away on a Sunday, she's trying to make a statement, aimed at you, no doubt. Be careful with her. She'll be waiting for you to make a mistake, anything she can take and twist.

"But you asked me about Jack - the preacher. Jack's been preaching for a long time. But it's not his job. I guess he does it for free. He's a rancher."

Lou reappeared with plates, putting one in front of Devon, one in front of Chuck. "I'll be back with bread in a minute."

"Jack Walker is a cattle rancher?"

"No, Jack Walker is a sheep rancher, the biggest around. But there is a cattle rancher here, bigger than Walker, David Shaw."

Chuck stopped cutting his meat. "_David_ Shaw?"

"Right. And the recent history of the area is a history of a minor range war between Jack Walker and David Shaw."

"Range war?"

"Yes, in a way" Devon paused, then his voice deepened and became formal, "in general, it's an old, old story, the clash between the _bovinophiles_ and the _ovinophiles_," he gestured at Chuck's plate and his, "between steak and lamb, between the mounted cowboys and the foot-bound shepherds…"

Devon smiled at himself and took a bite of his lamb before continuing. "Most of this took place before my time here, mind you. I've just been told about it." Lou stopped at the table with a plate of bread, fresh baked and thickly sliced.

"Jack Walker showed up here years ago, a beautiful wife and striking ten-year-old daughter, both blonde, in tow. He had money, lots and lots of it, and he launched into sheep ranching. He made a go of it. For a time, although there was grumbling among the cattlemen about being 'sheeped out', everything was fine.

But then David Shaw got...aggressive. In a short time, he bought out the smaller cattle ranchers and soon he was more or less the only cattleman in town. Shaw had - still has - the most abundant, accessible water in the area. It gave him leverage over the other cattlemen. It still gives him leverage. It gives him leverage over Walker. Anyway, once he got larger, Shaw started complaining about Walker's fences - cutting up pastureland, destroying the range. And bizarre stuff started getting said: 'sheep hooves kill the grass', 'cows won't eat grass sheep have crossed', and so on. Tensions rose.

"I don't understand it all; I'm not sure anyone but Jack Walker and David Shaw understands - if they do. But for a long time, things got bad and stayed bad. Gunfights in town between Shaw's men and Walker's. Murders in the night, in town and on the range. Mysterious mass deaths of sheep and of cattle. Townsfolk took sides, they traded hard words. You can imagine. No out-and-out, full-on, major battles; I suppose calling it a _war_ might be the wrong term, but that's why I said 'minor'.

"But Walker's wife, Emma, as beautiful as her daughter they say, died. There was a brief break in the hostilities. But then they resumed, intensified. Over time, though, Walker grew desperate for water. David Shaw's son needed a wife. David decided that Walker's now-grown daughter would be that wife. There was an attempt at peace by wedlock. Shaw's son, Daniel, started courting Sarah Walker. She rebuffed him, and, in response, he went away, East for a while. People held their breath but Walker and Shaw managed to hold their peace. When Daniel came back, Sarah's heart changed, I guess. He proposed, and she accepted his proposal. Tensions finally cleared. Life in Idaho Falls got better. I arrived around that time. Now folks are just waiting for Miss Walker to set a date for the royal wedding. She's been...slow...choosing a date."

Chuck had been eating as the tale was told - but mechanically, caught up in the story. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I met Miss Walker yesterday."

Devon sat back for a minute, scanning Chuck's face. "She's a beautiful woman, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Chuck looked out the window to avoid Devon's gaze.

"Did she speak to you?"

Chuck returned to Devon. "She did. I had fallen asleep up in the grove. She had come to put flowers on her mother's grave. She woke me from a bad dream."

"Quite an awakening, I imagine," Devon said.

Chuck smiled. "It was."

"She's nice but I don't know her well. Folks love her but she has always been quiet, almost taciturn. Self-possessed. I gather she was an irrepressible tomboy as a girl, that she can ride and shoot as well as any man. But I've never seen that side of her; I don't believe anyone has for a long time. She seems to have given all that up. Gave it up before I arrived. I was told her tom-boying caused a serious rift between her and her mother, when her mother was alive."

Devon paused and ate for a few minutes. Chuck had finished and pushed his plate aside, putting his knife and fork on it. He looked out the window as Devon finished. Devon wiped his mouth and leaned toward Chuck. "I can see from your face that Miss Walker left an impression. A word to the wise - be careful. Daniel Shaw is, well, the last man who looked twice at Miss Walker now has a face I had to stitch back together - like something imagined by Mary Shelley, a Modern Prometheus."

Chuck shuddered and nodded. "I'll bear that in mind. What do you make of Daniel Shaw," Chuck asked, keeping his tone casual but hoping to make something of the opportunity to learn more.

Devon looked puzzled. "I don't know how to answer. He has a temper; he is jealous. Smug - I guess that's the main word that comes to mind. He never says it but he walks around town like he owns the place. He's deadly with a gun, I'm told. Viper-quick. The viper part I believe. But I admit, I may be speaking out of jealousy myself."

"Miss Walker?"

Devon put up his hands. "No, no. She's beautiful, but no. Not my type" He put down his hands and leaned toward Chuck again. "I did rather like Miss Reynolds, your predecessor. She was very attractive. Dark brown hair, red lips, intelligent and plain-spoken. We stepped out a few times, and I visited her at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' - under your landlady's watchful eye, of course. Unfortunately, although I think she liked me, she never was as seriously interested in me as I was in her. Perhaps it is for the best. As much as I liked her, she did not have the sort of open nature I would like in a wife. But I do wish she had told me what was wrong, what took her from town so suddenly."

"What happened?"

Devon shook his head. "I don't know. The last few weeks of the school year, as summer was approaching, she seemed distant, distracted, agitated. I tried to get her to talk to me but she insisted that nothing was the matter. And then she was gone. No goodbyes, no explanation, - she was just gone.

"A day before she left, I was in my carriage, coming into town from a call at a farm not far away, and I saw Miss Reynold's leaning out of the window of her - now your - room. She was holding a man's hand, talking. I was tired and darkness was falling and the man wore a hat, but I believe the man was Daniel Shaw. That's why I mentioned jealousy, although, if it was Shaw, he and she were not doing anything incriminating, other than the clandestine meeting."

Lou came to the table and cleared the plates away. She offered dessert; both men refused. They paid and got up. Outside, Devon stood for a moment with Chuck. "You're sure you are feeling okay, Chuck?" Chuck nodded. "I'm here if you need me. I think I will take a stroll. You, Chuck?"

"No, I am going to rest, head back to my room." They shook hands and parted. As Chuck neared Mrs. Fitzsimmons, he saw a short man in a big hat crossing the street. The man was bearded. He looked like an older, bow-legged version of Chuck's friend in Boston, Morgan. He had a rifle resting on his shoulder as if it were a shovel, a gun holstered to his side. The man was walking quickly.

Chuck called out, acting on a whim. "Sir, sir, excuse me…" The man had crossed the street by then. He stopped and faced Chuck. Chuck hurried to him. "Hello, sorry to trouble you, but you looked like a man who could answer my question."

The man narrowed his eyes, taking in Chuck's Boston suit. "Well, maybes I can, and maybes, I cain't. What's it ya need, Mistur?"

"I need to find someone in town, proficient with a gun, who will teach me."

"_Pro-fishy-ant_? What's that word mean?"

"Um, good, skilled."

The man's eyes opened, lit up. "Hey, I unnerstan that. I s'pose I'm as pro-, as skilled as anneryone else in this town, more'n most." The man straightened up and fished in his vest pocket. Out came a star. "See, I's the deputy sheriff, on-a cause-a my profish-, skills." He put the star away. "Course, I's the part-time deputy sheriff, the resta the time I werk in the stables yonder." He pointed at a large, fresh-painted barn off in the distance, stationed at the very edge of town. "I'm headin' there now. My name's Nehi."

Chuck blinked. The man laughed. "I know, funny sorta moniker. My name's Nehemia, Nehemia Jenks, but evveron jes calls me Nehi."

"Well, Mr. Nehi, do you think you could instru-, teach me how to shoot?"

Nehi sized Chuck up. "Cain't say I can teech you or not. But I'm willing-ta give 'er a go."

"How much?"

Nehi's eyes narrowed again. "How 'bout you pay me in drinks? Two shots-a red eye per lessin?"

"Um, sure. How do I supply the pay?"

Nehi grinned and winked. "You'll have-ta come w' me to the Bar None, I s'pose. I doan like-ta drink all by my lonesome."

"Tomorrow afternoon? I just live here at Mrs. Fitzsimmons."

Nehi's eyes lit with comprehension. "Oh, oh, y're the new teecher yerself, the teecher what went-ta that fancy Divin-in-inity school. The God school." Chuck nodded, repressing a smile, and yet again Nehi's eyes narrowed. "Now, iffin I's-a teeching ya, ya ain't a-gonna be trying to salvage my soul is ya?"

Chuck blew a single chuckle out of his nose. "'Salvage? No, Nehi, I've got all the trouble I need trying to salvage my own."

Nehi gazed at him, surprised. "That's fair. Okey, I'll do't. Tomorrow, meet me at them stables. 2pm. Ya gotta gun?"

Chuck nodded. "I do. But could we perhaps leave town to practice? I'd be...embarrassed by my lack of skill if I were seen practicing…"

"Cain't piss iffin someones a-watchin'?" Nehi gave him an odd look.

"Something like that, Nehi."

Nehi shrugged. "Sure, but we'll need horses. That'll cost ya too. Say, a bag of tobbaca and some rollin' papers?"

"Yes, done."

"See ya tomorrow, then, Dee-vine."

Nehi walked away before Chuck could protest the title. Chuck stood there in the street for a minute, then walked to Mrs. Fitzsimmons. He stopped to look at her flowers.

For the first time since the hold-up, he felt homesick. He had just put his plan into motion. It would take time. But, as far as he knew, he had time, time that felt like eternity.

* * *

Monday, September 7, 1885

* * *

Chuck woke up before the roosters, even before Mrs. Fitzsimmons. He washed in the basin and headed out of the house while it was still dark. He walked out toward the stables, then took a wide ambit around the town. After he had been walking for a time, trying to clear his head, he spied someone. At first, Chuck thought it was a man, but then he realized it was a woman. She wore black from head to toe. She was carrying an old carpetbag. Her hat was low, her head down. Chuck heard a horse neigh but none was in sight. He stepped closer to the back of the house he was passing behind. The woman crossed the street and, no hesitation, she went up the backstairs of the Bar None.

Gone. Chuck had not seen her face, but as she climbed the stairs, he saw a blonde ponytail. Blonde. Golden.

_The rider on the hill after the hold-up! _ _The flash of gold. It was not a vision, it was a blonde rider, a woman. _

Chuck stood and waited but no one emerged from the saloon. The sun was up and Chuck heard noises inside the house. He hurried away. He was looking forward to Mrs. Fitzsimmons' biscuits. The blonde rider had pushed other thoughts, his struggle-filled broodings, from his mind, and he walked along, pondering her, trying to imagine her errand.

* * *

Midday found Chuck loitering on a bench in front of Lou's. He had eaten there. Lou had been no more friendly than the day before, but the food was just as good. He was going to get up and go to Mrs. Fitzsimmons' soon. He needed to collect his gun. His white hat had been dusted; he was wearing his Western clothes. Mrs. Fitzsimmons' washing of them had made them seem less new; he felt less like an obtrusive, ridiculous greenhorn. He still felt more like a spectator of the landscape than a part of it, but less than he had earlier.

He was beginning to settle in. A part of him hungered for that; a part of him fought it. Given his plan, he had to accept that he was not in Idaho Falls to stay.

"And where are you, Mr. Bartowski?"

Chuck whipped his head around, jolted by the words and their relevance to his mind's wandering, his thoughts of home and homelessness. Standing beside the end of his bench was Sarah Walker. She looked like the sun itself in her yellow dress, her hair down. She gave him a smile, more expressive than her reaction at church the day before.

She was alone.

"Nowhere, really, Miss Walker. Just meandering, I suppose."

She smirked. "I would enjoy knowing more about your mental meanderings, Mr. Bartowski. I suspect they must be fascinating, Iliadic."

"Excuse me, are you a fan of Homer, Miss Walker?"

She nodded, more than a hint of mystery on her face. "Yes, I read him in Chapman's translation. I love Homer, particularly _The Iliad_."

Chuck was surprised - not so much her reading Chapman's Homer as by her sharing it. His impression of her the day before had been strengthened by his conversation with Devon, and he had not expected Sarah to volunteer information.

"If you still have copies of the Homer, would you lend them to me sometime? I would be grateful."

She shook her head. "No." Chuck leaned back involuntarily - she stepped forward. "No, I mean I don't have the books anymore. I hardly have any books...now."

"I have books that Miss Reynolds left. You may borrow any you like. I could make you a list."

"That would be nice. You are nice, Mr. Bartowski."

It dawned on Chuck that she had not used his first name. She had used it at the graveside. He wondered about it but she spoke again. "I...I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Mr. Bartowski. Friday night is the town's Fall Festival. There is to be a dance. I need an escort and wondered if you would be willing to do it. It would be a good way for you to get to know more people and for them to know you - and it is in part a celebration of the beginning of the school year, so it makes sense that you should be there."

Chuck flushed with pleasure. He noticed then, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, that there was a man standing on the sidewalk behind her, just arrived. The man leaned against a pole. He was listening to the conversation intently, despite his casual posture.

"That it a kind invitation Miss Walker. But I...have been told that you are engaged. I…"

"Yes, that is true, Mr. Bartowski. I am engaged to Daniel Shaw." She spoke each word distinctly. "But he is out of town on business and my father is not planning to attend. I mentioned the possibility of us...that is, you and I, going together to both of them. They both thought it _neighborly. _They also did not want me to attend alone."

Chuck smiled at her. "It is most neighborly." He deliberately repeated her word. "I would be pleased to go with you. Will there be dancing? It is only fair to warn you that my native awkwardness increases when I ply it with music."

She gave him a huge smile, careful to keep her face turned away from the man. "I dance well, Mr. Bartowski. Perhaps I can help you?"

"It seems the teacher's fate is always to be the learner."

Her smile became thoughtful. "What did you think of my father's sermon?"

Chuck struggled to find something to say. She stepped into the silence. "He is self-taught. I fear seeing you in the audience made him nervous."

"I was unaware that the man preaching about the sheep was himself a sheep rancher."

"Yes, a conceit of his, I'm afraid. Could we meet on Friday evening at the stables? I will leave my carriage there."

"Yes. It's a date."

The man behind her cleared his throat and her eyes became guarded, her face unreadable.

"Not a _date_, Mr. Bartowski, but it should be a pleasant evening." Her tone was even but her smile now uneven. She turned and walked away. The man stood up straight as she passed. He gave Chuck a hostile look, then followed her.

The man's chill look did not undo the warmth Chuck felt, or make him less conscious of the blue ribbon in his shirt pocket.

* * *

Chuck had his gun hidden in his pillowcase when he arrived at the stables. Nehi sat on the top pole of the fence, waiting for him, his hat down over his face. He heard Chuck arrive and pushed his hat up. "Howdy, Dee-vine. Ya reddy fer yer lessin?"

Chuck motioned for him to lower his voice and Nehi gave him an apologetic nod.

"I am - that I am."

Nehi hopped down and led Chuck into the relative cool and shadow of the stables. Two horses, saddled and ready. The saddle on one had an old cloth bag hanging from the pommel. Nehi climbed up on it and jostled the bag. Chuck heard a glassy clink.

Chuck got up on the other. He had ridden and was not afraid of horses, but he was not an experienced rider, and he had not ridden in years. Nehi watched him almost throw himself over the horse as he got up. Nehi laughed. "I pick'd Jenny there fer ya. She's a tall 'un. I was afeard yer long leg's'd drag the ground on anny other. Like a prayin' mantis atop-a June beetle."

Taking the reins, Chuck gave Jenny an uncommanding nudge. She did not move. Nehi's eyes shone with merriment. "Now, teecher, ya gotta 'member. She's like a stoodent. Ya gots to tell 'er things. Ya cain't bargin with 'er."

Chuck put his heels into her sides and Jenny moved. Chuck could hear Nehi laughing to himself as he fell in behind.

* * *

Nehi proved to be a proficient with a gun - and a natural teacher. They had dismounted far from town and Nehi had taken the empty bottles from the bag and set them along the massive trunk of a fallen Ponderosa pine.

He showed Chuck how to stand, how to hold his arms, and how to aim and how to pull the trigger. At first, Chuck's marksmanship was little better than if he had been shooting with his eyes closed. He improved, though. Nehi had a gift for seeing Chuck's errors and pointing them out, and, even more, a gift for helping Chuck correct them. When the bottles were bits of broken glass, Nehi put his hand on Chuck's shoulder, reaching high to do it.

"That'll do, Dee-vine. Ya got sum talent fer this. Course, shootin' sum glass shore ain't shootin' no man, and a-shootin' a man takes more'n..._pro-fish-en-see_. It takes stones o' a certin kind. Ya has to _still_ yer heart, not just so's it's not a-poundin' away, but so's it's not a-feeling annythin' neither. That ain't nat'ral. Not nat'ral at-all. And I cain't teech ya that. An' I wouldn't, iffin I could. It's a-twixt you, and Heaven and Hell, Dee-vine."

Chuck shook his head. "I just want to learn to shoot, not to learn to kill."

Nehi gave him an unconvinced look. "Glad ya sees the diff'ernce. It's a diff'ernce worth ponderin'' over. I's killed men since takin' up deputyin', an tain't sweetened my nights, or my days, I tell ya. Nary a bit. Nary one goddamn bit."

Nehi's face registered instant mortification. "Sorry, sorry, Dee-vine, fer cursin' afore a-manna God."

"It's fine, Nehi. I'm a teacher, not a preacher. And a word's only a curse when it's used to curse someone; otherwise, it's just a word, like any other, a sound in the air, a pile of ink on a page."

Nehi took a minute, then nodded and whistled. "Ya grad-ee-ated smart, Dee-vine. - Say, I'll collect on that whisky and them smokes soon."

They got back on the horses, turning them toward town.

Nehi smiled at the scenery, finite greens and browns hung below infinite blue. The men and horses weaved in and out of trees, juniper, pinyon, mountain hemlock.

Chuck didn't speak. Jenny knew the way; he let her ramble along.

Chuck rotated Nehi's words in his mind, wondering how Nehi seemed to know so much.

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next chapter to attend the first days of school - and to attend Idaho Falls' Fall Festival - Chapter Six, "Tuitions and Intuitions".

_Thoughts?_ I'm at the decision point for the story - continue or not? We are now mostly done with preliminaries. Things are obviously already happening but the speed begins to increase next chapter. If you are reading but haven't commented, and if you want this to continue, then it's time to speak up. Many thanks to those who have commented.


	6. Tuitions and Intuitions

A/N1: Make sure you've got your school supplies (Part One), and that you've got your dancing shoes (Part Two).

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER SIX:

_Tuitions and Intuitions_

* * *

Tuesday, September 8, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

_Part One: Lessons_

* * *

Chuck woke chilled.

It had been warm on Monday and the heat had settled on Chuck by the time he and Nehi had stabled the horses. Nehi went on the sheriff's office. Chuck went to his room.

He worked distractedly at lesson plans, but although the sun was setting, the heat was rising and still upon him. After a sweaty, fussy few hours, he gave up and prepared for sleep. He looked out the window and saw a streak of lightning, heard and felt a peal of thunder. _Storm. The coming of the whirlwind_.

Despite the threatening storm, he threw open his window, letting in the air. After turning back his blankets, he tucked himself in.

He mooned up at the ceiling and it mooned down at him, white, impassive. Rain began to fall. White. His mind, unsettled, wavering, slipped to a book. _Moby Dick, _Melville's Passion of Emptiness, of void spaces. Ishmael: _It was the whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me. _ For a moment, Chuck pictured Ahab, consumed, comfortless and incomplete, hounding the White Whale. But then Chuck's mental scene transfigured, and he was staring down a black gun barrel at colored bottles, and then at Daniel Shaw. Shaw stared back, unmoved - his black irises whiting the whites of his eyes.

That image in his mind, Chuck drifted off.

The morning air, cooled after the storm, was responsible for Chuck's chill. He got up and shut the window, then poured water into the basin and washed. He stood for a time in his underwear staring at his two options for his first day of class. The newish Western garb and the black Boston suit. His dithering lasted long enough that he heard Mrs. Fitzsimmons' call him from the hall. "Breakfast, Mr. Bartowski. Big day, _first_ day. Rise and shine!"

Chuck had risen; he was far from shining. Taking a deep breath, he donned on the Western clothes and grabbed his cowboy hat. He considered its whiteness for a moment, then shook his head, trying to shake Melville's whaler's grip on him. Carrying his cowboy hat in his hand, and his tablet and pen in the other, he went to breakfast. For a moment, he thought yesterday's heat had addled him: he was seeing double: there were two Mrs. Fitzsimmons standing by the table.

"This is my sister, Mrs. Constance," the real Mrs. Fitzsimmons reported with a quick nod toward her mirrored image. "We're twins."

Chuck stood in place. Mrs. Constance giggled. "We get that reaction from new folks."

Recovering, Chuck laughed. "Identical twins, I take it."

"Only outwardly," Mrs. Fitzsimmons said. "Otherwise, we are perfectly distinct."

Chuck raised one eyebrow, "Constance?"

The sister's exchanged a look. "Yes," Mrs. Constance answered. "I am Martin Constance's wife, the sheriff's brother. He owns Large Mart Hardware. He's a big guy…"

"Oh, oh," Chuck added, catching up, "Large Mart-in, Martin, I get it. I like it." He laughed again, glad for his mood to lighten, at least for a moment.

Mrs. Constance giggled and looked at her sister again. "You're right, Clarel, he is handsome - and nice."

"I know my lodgers, Mirabelle." Mrs. Fitzsimmons left for the kitchen. Chuck asked to sit and Mrs. Constance waved to a chair. "I realize this is confusing. A twin - and a twin married to the brother (not a twin) of the man Mrs. Fitzsimmons was out _walking _with on Saturday, as I take it from your question you know. She's been chasing Mark for years. Lucky for me, Martin was heavier - and slower. I'm very pleased to meet you - Chuck, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am, and I, you."

"I came by this morning to meet you and to talk to you."

"Talk to me?"

"Yes, my son, Johnny, will be one of your pupils. He's older, and he's a good boy, _he is_, but he's at that...difficult age. Resents his father and ignores his mother. I wish I didn't have to say this, but I expect he will...challenge you. I want you to know - my husband and I both want you to know - that we support you.

"Clarel already has a high opinion of you, as do...many...in town. I hope you can reach him. He's not just a good boy, he's smart too. Too smart, perhaps. Miss Reynolds kept him in tolerable check with smiles and charm. Johnny was...smitten. Her sudden departure has made Johnny more difficult and I suspect he will hate anyone who takes her place."

Chuck nodded. "I will do all I can. I appreciate the foreknowledge and support. Let me tell you, though, that I have my methods, and they take time. The slow cure is the only real cure. Miracle cures are almost always fake. You have my promise I will be patient and will do my best."

Mrs. Constance smiled, her relief palpable. "Clarel," she called, looking away from Chuck and into the kitchen, "be sure to bring a new jar of those strawberry preserves, and a pile of biscuits. Our teacher needs to fortify himself."

* * *

Chuck walked along the main street toward the school, full of strawberry preserves, biscuits, and Ahab. _From Hell's heart, I stab at thee. _Chuck looked up as he passed The Bar None, and saw Carina, head and bare shoulders leaning out of an upstairs window, her eyes closed, her face in the sun. She opened her eyes and noticed him. Looking around first, she waved guardedly at him and gave him a warm smile. He forgot Ahab. Chuck waved back without looking around, causing Carina to frown. She shook her head, _No. _She ducked back in the window.

The Bar None made Chuck wonder again about the blonde rider. He had been wondering if the blonde rider was Sarah Walker. It fit in some ways: her hair, her rumored skill at riding. But if it was her, what was she doing there when the Number Gang held up the stage? Why had she just watched it all, assuming she had been there all along? Why not help once the Gang rode away? Why vanish? It did not seem to him to make sense, given the little of Sarah he knew from his own experience. Granted, that little was very little, but still: would she have just sat by while the Numbers did what they did - trampled Bob, shot Steve, pistol-whipped Chuck, threatened Carina, stolen money and valuables? Chuck did not believe it - or he did not want to believe it. But he knew of no way to solve the mystery that morning, so he forced his mind on school, on the first day, always a difficult day. It helped him that he had Friday ahead of him, the Fall Festival, his evening with Sarah Walker. Nothing could come of it but it would be a few hours with her and he would take what he could get. Maybe he could find out more about the rider talking to Sarah at the Festival.

He was there early. Langston Graham had left him a key with Mrs. Fitzsimmons, and Chuck used it to unlock the red doors. He left them standing open and entered.

The building had been freshly cleaned, and, as Langston had promised, the Sunday changes were gone. Everything gleamed, even the wooden floor. Chuck walked to the front and stepped up to the desk. He put his pen and tablet on it, then turned, picked up the rag, and wiped the already clean board, just burning nervous energy.

He picked up new chalk from the wooden tray running along the bottom of the board. Working from memory, he wrote out these words on one end of the board:

'_Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,  
Nor customary suits of solemn black,  
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,  
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,  
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,  
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,  
That can denote me_ _truly__. These __indeed __seem,  
For they are actions that a man might play;  
But I have that within which passeth show;  
These but the trappings and suits of woe._

Hamlet_, Hamlet, Act I, Scene II_

Chuck stepped back and looked at the words. They were legible. Chuck had decided to use the quotation as the lesson for his older students.

On the opposite end, he wrote a list of words, all one syllable or two syllables, to serve as both a penmanship and spelling lesson for younger students. Language, logic and rhetoric would be the focus before lunch. Mathematics and science after lunch. He stepped down from the desk and turned again toward the board, reading the Hamlet quotation to himself. He thought of Jill, dead and bloody, and of sobbing Molly in his arms. It should not have ended like that for Jill. For Molly. For Chuck. _I have that within which passeth show. _He was glad he'd not chosen to wear his black Boston suit, although the quotation had not consciously been any part of his decision against it. _All forms, moods, shapes of grief. _Jill, Chuck's father, his mother. It didn't matter if he did not seem sad - he was sad, sad at a depth he had yet to plumb. _From Hell's heart…_ He took a deep, trembling breath and walked toward the doors. He unwound the bell-rope and he began to ring the bell, its clear tenor note sounding all around Idaho Falls, announcing the first day of school.

* * *

The students were all seated, looking at Chuck with a mixture of curiosity and dread. He knew that the latter was not entirely personal. It was the recognition that another year of schooling had come - he caused the dread, but was not really its object. The former, the curiosity, was, however, mostly personal. They had not expected his cowboy attire and his height seemed to puzzle many, particularly the youngest, who sat in the front and who had to lean their heads back whenever he stood. The raised platform made it all worse.

Chuck stepped down and asked the students to tell him their names. He wrote them on his tablet as they did. He started at the front.

A tiny girl, blond and delicate, painfully shy, whispered: "Faith Stone, sir."

Another small girl: "Emily Whittier."

The next to speak was a boy, older than Faith and Emily, but still young. He had a mass of curly dark hair and bright eyes. But he seemed frightened. To frightened to speak. Chuck walked toward him and bent at the knees so as not to tower over the boy. "And your name?"

"Anthony Rizzo, sir." The answer had barely been given when an older boy in the back row fake sneezed: "Whoreson!"

Chuck stood up. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were so eager to tell me your name. Is that spelled with an 'H' or with a 'Wh'? Is it your surname or your first name?"

The other children, excepting the two smallest girls, burst into laughter. The boy blushed and glowered. "That's not _my _name."

Chuck gave the boy a mild look. "Forgive me. What is your name?"

"Johnny Constant."

Chuck wrote it down and then turned back to Anthony. "I'm glad to have you with us, Anthony."

The other students told him their names. The final two were older girls, seated next to Johnny Costance, Izbel Jenks, a curly-headed girl with a quick, pleasant smile (Chuck looked at her a second time because of her name), and Ruth Justus, a softer, attractive version of her mother. Her eyes were guarded and she seemed to be studying Chuck, tracking everything he did.

Chuck told the older students to copy the Shakespeare and to reflect on it; they would discuss it. He then spent time with the younger students, helping them to copy the words from the board, correcting their penmanship, then spent a few minutes explaining the meaning of each word. He left the youngest to write the words several more times, practicing. Those who were a little older he asked to use each word in a sentence.

He turned his attention to the older students and they worked to understand what Hamlet was saying - Chuck explained the opening of the play - and to understand the hard words. They talked about the forms, moods, and shapes of grief, and Chuck took the time to explain the complicated extended metaphor, the complex use of seeming and being, that was integral to the quotation.

The morning passed. After lunch, Chuck began work on simple arithmetic with youngest children, multiplication with those slightly older, and he discussed the opening of Euclid's Elements, again working from his memory, considering the definitions of 'point' and 'line'. At first, the students were lost, befuddled, but soon they were engrossed, arguing excitedly about the definition of a point as 'that which has no part' and wondering if it made sense to think points existed, whether something with no parts could occupy a position in space.

Chuck was quickly engrossed too. He took breaks to work with the younger students, but he came back to the discussion with the older ones. Even Johnny Constant seemed reluctantly interested in Euclid.

The first day ended. After the students left, Chuck erased the board and straightened the classroom, then he sat down at the desk and put his head on his arms, exhausted. He had not picked up anything heavy, physically heavy, but teaching was far from light work.

* * *

Wednesday, September 9

* * *

The next day was much the same.

But just after Chuck called the roll, a young black woman came running into the building. She stopped, self-conscious, when everyone turned to look at her.

"Yes," Chuck said, "I'm Mr. Bartowski, the teacher, may I help you?"

She looked both terrified and excited. "I'm Monica Stutts. My dad is the cook at the railway camp. Most days I have to help him, but he told me I could take the wagon and come once in a while, and today was...once in a while. May I attend...part-time?"

"Certainly, Monica. Welcome." She sat down at the back on an otherwise unoccupied bench. Ruth Justus and Johnny Constance stared at the newcomer then at Chuck.

* * *

When school ended on Wednesday, Chuck walked up the street to The Bar None. He was to buy the drinks for Nehi he owed him for Monday's shooting lesson. They had a plan to go again on Saturday. As he walked through the swinging doors, Chuck thought about the warnings he had gotten from Carina, Casey and from Devon. Going into the saloon, even in the light of day, was imprudent. But Chuck did not like the idea that someone like Athaliah Justus could control where he spent his time.

As he walked in, he saw Nehi at the bar, his hat tilted back, talking with a balding, chubby bartender. The bartender was listening as Nehi told a story about an argument between two preachers and a donkey. Chuck slipped up to the bar to listen, and looked around. In the one corner, Langston Graham was sitting with Mark Constance. Each had a glass of beer in front of him. Each nodded at Chuck and he nodded back. Nehi finished his story and the bartender gave a belly-laugh. "That's a good 'un, huh, Jeff?" Nehi asked the question, red-faced and laughing at his own story. He saw Chuck and sobered.

"Oh, I din' see ya. I's all a-caught up inna story…" Nehi paused and squeezed his eyes shut. "That story weren't aimed at ya, Dee-vine. I know yer no preecher - and not no donkey neither." He tried not to laugh, but Jeff did, and then Nehi did too. Chuck joined the laughter, although he had missed the punch-line.

"No, neither a preacher nor a donkey, but maybe a horse's ass."

Nehi cackled in delight, as did Jeff. Chuck was still laughing when he looked up and saw Carina standing at the top of the stairway that led from the bar up to the rooms on the second floor. She pulled her flowery robe closed and glared at Chuck. She came down the stairs, apparently torn between attending to Chuck and ignoring him, and somehow doing both. Chuck put a small cloth pouch of tobacco on the bar in front of Nehi, and a small package of rolling papers. He ordered two shots of red-eye. Putting his hand on Nehi's shoulder, he whispered his thanks. A moment later, he met as she crossed the floor.

"Hello, Miss Miller. I am here on a teacherly errand. A worker here, _Mrs. _Rizzo, has a son at my school, and I would like to talk to her him."

Carina's annoyance vanished and thanks replaced it. "That's kind of you, Mr. Bartowski, I know she has been hoping you would visit." Then, under her breath. "She really has, Boston. Thanks." She raised her voice. "Follow me."

They climbed the wide stairs side-by-side. Carina's face wore a pleased smile. She led Chuck along the balcony to a room at the end of the hall. Knocking, she called out softly: "Zondra, the teacher's here, like I said he would be."

Rustling noises came from inside the room, then the door opened. The woman standing there was, like Carina, wrapped in a robe. It was the woman who had called out Carina's name when the stagecoach arrived in Idaho Falls. Carina: "Chuck Bartowski, meet Zondra Rizzo. No _Mrs._, as you well know."

Chuck extended his hand and smiled. Zondra looked at him and shook his hand. Chuck saw that the room contained a large bed, unmade. Off to the side was a door, and beyond it, a pallet rolled neatly on the floor of a tiny room, presumably the place where Anthony slept. The small room was empty. A heavy dresser on one side of the room had a comb and brush on it, and a mannequin head beneath a blonde wig.

"Can you give me a minute, Mr. Bartowski. I'd like to dress and we can...it would be better if we talked downstairs." Zondra glanced at Carina, who nodded. "I need to change too, Boston. No need to the signs out when the shop is closed. I'll be down in a few minutes with Zondra."

Chuck went back downstairs. Langston was still talking to the sheriff, so Chuck walked over to them. Langston pushed out a chair with his foot and smiled. "Sit down, Mr. Bartowski. I heard kids in the street today talking about Euclid. I take it you are to blame for this unforgivable development?"

Chuck laughed silently. "I suppose. We talked about the definition of 'surface' today, and the students were...puzzled."

Langston's smile grew. "I can well imagine. What is that definition again?"

"A surface is that which has length and breadth only."

Sheriff Constance huffed. "I thought that was Mrs. Justus. No depth."

Chuck smiled but gave the sheriff a look. "What brings her to mind?"

"She was in my office today. It seems she saw a girl," - the sheriff glanced at Langston - "a black girl from the camp, go inside the school and not leave. She was...concerned."

Langston shook his head. "It isn't Christian, I know, but I sometimes wish she lacked _breath_ and depth. I can't say I'd be sorry to render her my professional services…"

"It's true, Sheriff Constance, her name is Monica Stutts. Her father is the cook at the camp, she said."

Constance nodded. "I know him. So does Langston. A good man."

"Well, his daughter is brilliant, I believe. It seems she has read Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ on her own, and with considerable understanding."

"Justus' campaign against you is just beginning. I have to say, your visiting here is not perhaps the best strategy," Constance noted.

"I refuse to strategize against that woman. I would rather be as wise as a dove."

Langston raised an eyebrow. "Be careful, Chuck, she's as innocent as a serpent. She has fangs."

Carina and Zondra were on their way down the stairs, so Chuck excused himself and moved to an empty table. He waited for the women to sit down then he joined them. Jeff brought over a tray with three cups of coffee. He put the coffee down and stared for a minute at Carina, then he went back to the bar. Carina shook her head. "Some days…"

Zondra broke in. "So, what do you think of Anthony, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Chuck, please. And I think he's a bright and likable boy. But I do agree with what Carina told me. He has difficulties reading and writing; he reverses things, I've noticed. His verbal abilities themselves would make me consider grouping him with the older kids but he needs to catch up with them in reading and writing. Don't worry. I am sure I can help him. Can he come to Mrs. Fitzsimmons once a week after school?"

Zondra nodded enthusiastically. "Sure, sure he can. Thank you!"

"I'm glad to do it." Chuck looked at Carina. "Faith Stone's mom works here too, right?"

"Yes, and she's...busy. Anthony's out back, playing with Faith. Do you need to talk to her mom? Does Faith have a problem?"

"No, no problem, I just wanted to invite her to come with Anthony. She's a little behind, but there's no other difficulty. I can work with them both at the same time."

Carina gave Chuck a look. "You want to do this at your landlady's place, the woman who likely scrubbed the floors and walls of the room I stayed in as soon as I left?"

Chuck grinned. "She has her moments - and she has her moments. I'm confident I can talk her into it. Maybe even talk her into giving the kids some of her strawberry preserves."

Carina narrowed her eyes. "You pull that off Boston, and I will climb through your window one night and give you some of _my_ strawberry preserves."

Chuck choked on his swallow of coffee.

* * *

_Part Two: Falling_

* * *

Friday, September 11, 1885  
Idaho Falls Fall Festival

* * *

Chuck had gone shopping at Patel's Dry Goods. He bought a new shirt and jacket, new pants and shoes, ignoring the slightly spooky feeling the owner, Lester, gave him. The man kept insisting on clarifying that he was an Indian _from India, _and not an Indian of 'the Western sort'.

Chuck had struggled to get out of the store, away from the small man.

Chuck's purchased jacket and pants were brown, his purchased shirt blue. He wore no hat. _Passable, I look passable. _He had done his best to get his curly hair to seem domesticated instead of wild. His heart was hammering in his chest.

The doors of the stables were open. The Festival was due to start soon and Mrs. Fitzsimmons told Chuck that she saw the Walker carriage arrive. Mrs. Fitzsimmons had not been excited to find out that on Wednesday that Chuck would escort Sarah Walker to the Festival. She asked Chuck repeatedly if he was sure that Daniel Shaw knew, if Jack Walker knew. Chuck explained that they both did.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons stopped asking but she never seemed reconciled to the plan. She had looked at Chuck pointedly before he left: "Be careful tonight."

Despite Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Chuck nervousness was of a positive, anticipatory sort. He had gone to sleep each night during the week with Sarah's blue ribbon beneath his pillow. It was in the pocket of his new jacket. He did not understand the token, but he knew it _was_ a token, that it meant _something_, and that it had been in her hair. It was precious to him.

He walked into the barn and into John Casey. Chuck bounced back but caught himself before falling. Casey smirked and looked Chuck up and down. "Hello, Mr. Fancypants," Casey deadpanned. Casey wore the same clothes he wore on the stage, except he had added a string tie. Around Casey's thick neck, it looked like an undersized noose. Chuck was about to comment when Sarah stepped into view.

She wore a white dress, but not the plain one she had worn at church. This was embroidered around the neck and around the sleeves, around the hem. The embroidering was white too, but of a slightly creamier hue, so it was noticeable. The white that had haunted Chuck all week, Ishmael's white, vanished, replaced by a white still mystical but not appalling. It was fascinating, distracting, otherwordly. In contrast with her dress, her hair seemed more golden, purer, spun sunlight. He knew he was gaping at her but he could not help it. She smiled at him, her eyes shy but pleased.

"I've brought Miss Sarah to town for the Festival," Casey said, stepping between them. "I'm working for Jack Walker now. I'm his new foreman."

Before thinking, Chuck blurted out: "You're a shepherd?"

"No," Casey growled, "I'm the foreman on a sheep ranch. The shepherds work for me."

Chuck smirked at Casey. "Never thought of you as sheepish." Chuck heard Sarah giggle.

Casey frowned. "More jokes like that, schoolmarm, and I will make this a long evening for you."

"Boys," Sarah said, curtailing her giggles. "Get along. I'm sure you two like each other, so act like it."

Casey rolled his eyes. Chuck looked past him at Sarah. "I like him. He bears me, barely." Casey nodded.

"Say, have you heard anything more about the robbery, Casey? I talked to the sheriff again yesterday and he says he has no clues, nothing."

"Me either. I want my watch. My dad gave me that, and if I ever find Number Two, he's gonna be telling the same time forever."

"Did they take anything from you, Chuck?" Sarah asked, stepping beside Casey.

Chuck looked at her for a minute. "No, not really.'

"Tell her, Chuck," Casey said turning to look at Sarah. "They stole the teacher's apple." Casey smiled at that, a granite smile. Chuck blushed. Casey went on, nodding at Chuck's blushing face. "That there's about the color of that apple, bruising too."

Chuck had hoped his bruises invisible but he knew that his nose was still yellowed from Number Two's pistol.

Sarah looked at his face. "The bruises are almost gone, Chuck, and they were honorably won, to hear Casey tell the story - when you aren't around."

Casey cleared his throat. "Festival's a-waitin'"

* * *

For Chuck, the Festival was magic.

He could not tell what Sarah thought of it, though. She danced with him, helping him understand how the unfamiliar dances went. He was grateful that she seemed unembarrassed by his awkwardness. There were other men there, a number from the railroad camp, men Chuck took to be handsome, more comparable to Daniel Shaw in looks that Chuck would ever be. Several asked Sarah to dance but she firmly refused. A couple of men took the refusal hard but Casey seemed to always be nearby when it happened and his presence kept complaints at a minimum.

Sarah was not expressive during the evening. She seemed to enjoy herself, but all her actions and reactions seemed to be contained, unrevealing. She laughed and made small talk but wasn't focused overmuch on Chuck. She seemed simply to be enjoying the Festival. Chuck enjoyed himself too, just being near her, but he felt a little lost, unsure of her, the evening. The magic was bitterwweet.

The evening was drawing to a close. Sarah sat near Chuck on one of the flat wagons that had been drawn into the street. No one was watching them. Her white shoes swung just above the ground and she had a glass of punch in her hands. Flushed from dancing, she was transcendent, incandescent: beautiful, angelic. Chuck heard woodwinds again, soft and entrancing music, distinct from the tune the fiddle-player was playing for those still dancing.

Chuck had made himself look away and was watching the dancers. The whole scene struck him as heavenly, the dancers other angels, turning, smiling, not earthbound. _Blessed spirits. _He realized he had been staring for a while and he returned attention to Sarah. She looked away as he did: she had been staring at him, he was almost sure.

She hurried into a comment. "Chuck, how's school going?"

"It's gotten off to a good start. Some students are resistant but on the whole, I'm encouraged."

"I would like to learn from you," Sarah said, so softly Chuck thought the words unreal, but her head dropped, and he knew she had spoken them. She looked up and gave him a playful smile. "Izbel Jenks tells me you talk beautifully about Euclid."

"You know Izbel?"

"Yes, her father works for my father. He is Roan Montgomery's partner in the law office."

"Oh, I haven't met Mr. Montgomery yet."

"He's often out of town on business. I'm sure you will run into him. I'm surprised he's not here. Unlike him to miss a party."

"And you heard from Izbel how?"

"Her father brought some papers to the ranch. He left them with me. She rode out with him and was full of her handsome new teacher."

"She said that?"

Sarah shrugged. "It was...implied. But she was full of points and lines and surfaces."

Chuck laughed. "Is she related to Nehi?"

"Yes, she's his niece. Nehi's younger brother is her father, our lawyer."

"Nehi's brother is a lawyer?" At that moment, Nehi passed by them, wobbling, holding a mug of beer, most of which he was spilling on his boots as he tried to dance to the music.

Sarah chuckled indulgently at him. "It seems surprising, I admit. But the Jenks are surprising folks. How do you know Nehi?" The look she gave him was more interrogative than her tone.

"He's taken me riding, let me see some of the area."

Sarah pursed her lips and her eyes bore into Chuck's for a moment. "Oh, I see. Well, he's a good guide. It's a beautiful country, great for riding."

"Do you ride?"

Sarah looked away, back at Nehi, who was draining the last of the beer from his mug but still dancing. "Seldom. Daniel likes for me to ride with him sometimes, so I do, but that's all the riding I manage."

This was the first time Shaw's name had come up during the evening. Chuck had not missed it.

"Right. Your husband-to-be." Sarah's face had emptied. Chuck could not tell anything about what she was thinking or feeling. "When is the wedding? Have you set a date?"

"A date?" Sarah's blue eyes flashed above a deep frown. "No, I have not set a date. A date! Why ask me that?" Her eyes were icy after the flash, her manner too. "I believe our evening is done. Please walk me back to the stables. I don't see Casey, but I am sure he will meet me there as soon as he sees I have left."

Chuck wanted to apologize but he was not sure what he had done. Asking about the wedding did not seem like a breach of propriety. And everything had been good between them all evening, at least as far as Chuck could tell. He decided it was best to surrender. He stood and walked away from the Festival with her.

She walked quickly and did not look at him the entire distance, did not speak. He had not expected anything from the evening beyond the evening itself, but it now looked like that was going to be marred by his question.

The stable doors were closed. Chuck increased his pace, and reached the doors before Sarah. He opened one enough to allow them to enter. Inside, a lantern hung on a post lit the scene. No one was there.

Sarah crossed her arms. After a moment, she faced him. "I want you to stay out of my affairs with Daniel. That is our business, no one else's. If I want to tell you something about it, I will volunteer it."

"I'm sorry, Miss Walker. I intended no offense. I did not realize I was...I had...I did…"

And suddenly, Sarah was in his arms. In his arms. She was kissing him as if no one had ever kissed anyone before, as if the kiss were being invented in that barn. The kiss overturned him, overthrew his world, blindsided him.

He reeled.

She was so real in his arms and he held to her as if she were the only fixed point in the universe. For a moment, they were themselves a point - in Euclid's sense. Not two but one. They were that which has no parts. Her surface was against his surface, her body, so alive and so warm, firm and yielding all at once.

There was a noise at the door. She stepped out of Chuck's embrace and, unconsciously, reached up to straighten her hair. Casey came in. He looked at the two of them curiously.

"I'm ready to go home now. Thank you, Mr. Bartowski, for everything."

"Thank you, Miss Walker."

She did not look at him again. She climbed into the carriage and Casey opened both doors and went to get the team of horses from their stall.

Chuck walked out of the stables and back to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, but he had no memory of the journey.

* * *

Saturday, September 12

* * *

Nehi and Chuck had been shooting again. Chuck was getting better all the time. They did not talk. Nehi was nursing a serious hangover. Chuck was too, although his had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with Sarah Walker's delicious and inscrutable lips.

He had not slept after the Festival, or not much. He fell asleep around dawn and managed a couple of hours before chatter between Mrs. Fitzsimmons and her sister woke him. He had dawdled in his room, moving aimlessly from bed to armchair and back again. He spent a long time staring at Sarah's ribbon. It seemed of a piece with the kiss, or the kiss of a piece with it - both precious to Chuck and both, somehow, heartbreaking too.

The evening made him less suspicious that she was the blonde rider. The wig in Zondra's room had already suggested that it was Zondra and not Sarah who was the rider. Chuck still did not understand the rider or what she was doing, what part she played, if any, in the hold-up, what she was doing sneaking into The Bar None at dawn. Chuck had decided he would try to figure the mystery out, if he could.

Not that his hands weren't already full with teaching and his slow-moving vendetta.

But the memory of Sarah's kiss dominated Chuck's Saturday and kept him from having much to say to Nehi. Chuck walked to the fallen Ponderosa pine to pick up a bottle that had fallen off the trunk before it had been shot. He bent down to pick it up when he saw a sort of trough along the bottom of the tree's opposite side, a trough presumably caused by the thunderstorm earlier in the week. Chuck noticed something metallic and shiny in the trough. He bent down to pick it up. It was a hair comb, and it came up from the ground trailing dark brown hair. Chuck dropped it and stepped back.

Nehi noticed. "Snake?"

Chuck shook his head, staring at the ground. Nehi joined him and saw what Chuck saw.

"Goddamn," Nehi said.

Nehi got on his knees and started digging in the dirt. In a moment, the decomposed face of a woman stared at them with the remains of her eyes. Nehi turned and looked up at Chuck, his eyes huge, full of terror.

"Goddamn," Chuck whispered.

* * *

A/N2: Ditto.

Thoughts?


	7. Wake

A/N1: I spun you around as the last chapter ended, kisses and bodies. On we go.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN:

_Wake_

* * *

Saturday, September 12, 1885  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

Nehi went to get the sheriff, to report what had been found. Chuck stayed with the body. With the woman, with what was left of her.

Chuck and Nehi left the body in the ground, still buried beneath and alongside the fallen pine. Chuck was sick to his stomach, his head throbbed. His life kept rising and falling, rising and falling. The falls seemed deeper than the rises seemed steep. He felt like he was getting in deeper and deeper, gradually. The trees around Chuck loomed and swayed, like inconsolable mourners.

Large black flies crawled on the corpse's face; he moved closer and waved them away, trying not to inhale the odor, growing stronger. He sat down in the dirt, fanning the woman's dead face, to keep the flies away.

An impromptu, tardy wake, his fanning of the woman's face all the ritual observance he had to offer. He could shoo the flies away.

A wake. Death.

Death.

Jill. That day, that awful day...

Things for Jill had gotten better. With Chuck's help, and the help of Professor Abbot, Jill had a new job at an apothecary's shop. She was excited about it. The money was good and the work fascinated her, engaged her ready mind. Molly spent the day at school, and Chuck stopped by to fetch her afterward. That particular day, Jill, off early, was going to cook dinner. They were going to plan for the new lodgings Jill had found for her and Molly.

Chuck walked Molly home, her hand in his. She skipped at his side. They knocked and entered the apartment, not waiting for a greeting. Molly called out: "Mommy, I'm home." Jill didn't respond - Molly would never get a response. That was when Chuck found Jill's body.

Chuck loved Jill. They had become true friends. She wanted more, and hoped for more, Chuck knew, but he had not been able to sort out his feelings for her. He had not become close to anyone since his parents died. Ellie and Morgan he loved before his parents' death, but after their death, Chuck could not bring himself to love anew. He liked people; people liked him. But he would not make stronger connections, connections that might be severed, snapped by fever, or one of a million other disasters.

Meeting Jill and Molly had changed that. Chuck had fallen for the little girl and that had led to his friendship with her mother. Jill had made her hopes clear to Chuck early on, and Chuck had tried to explain how he felt or didn't feel, but he knew he had confused her more than helped her. Not just Chuck's feelings, but the whole situation had been complicated...

Chuck kept waving his hand at the flies. He tried not to look at the dead woman's face but could not keep from it. _Miss Reynolds. _Chuck was sure. He had never seen her, never seen her likeness, but he was sure. Chuck ached for her, for what had happened to her. He dreaded what the news would do to the town - but especially to Devon and to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and to the students, to Johnny Constance.

* * *

Sunday, September 13

* * *

After the discovery of the murder, church was somber. Dark suits, dark dresses under a low, dark sky.

Chuck walked quietly with Mrs. Fitzsimmons to the schoolhouse. Everything and everyone seemed shocked, their expressions and gestures mechanical and muted. Chuck sat where he sat the Sunday before. Sarah was not there. Neither was Mrs. Justus.

When Jack Walker began his sermon, he mentioned that his daughter was at home, not feeling well. The funeral was scheduled for Thursday.

* * *

Monday, September 14

The school, while not as somber as the church, was also muted. The students seemed spooked and uncertain. The murder seemed to pollute the very environment of the schoolhouse.

Chuck tried to reassure the students - and himself too - by choosing different, cheerier subjects. He shifted the older students from passages of _Hamlet _to passages from _A Midsummer Night's Dream. _And he had all the students, young and old, involved in his spirited, simple, just-before-lunch recounting of the play within the play, the play in the woods, of Pyramus and Thisby's struggle with the Wall. It diverted them, or almost all of them.

Johnny Constance, though, spent both the morning and the afternoon staring into space; he would not contribute, would not react, not positively. He seemed angered by the tale of Pyramus and Thisby. Chuck had thought that perhaps Johnny's parents' concern was exaggerated, but events had conspired to make them appropriate. When Johnny was not staring into space, he was gazing hatefully at Chuck, as if Chuck were guilty of the murder.

* * *

During lunch, while the students ate outside, Chuck stayed at his desk. He was writing a letter to his sister. He had just written her name atop the page when he heard a man clear his throat. He looked up to see Devon standing there. He looked stricken and unwell. He had been outside of town, helping a woman give birth, and had not been there when Sheriff Constance, Nehi, Chuck and two other men came into town with the wagon, a blanket-covered form in the back. They had taken the body to Langston Graham's. Graham quickly came out and oversaw the transfer of the body into the mortuary, doing his best to give the growing crowd of onlookers little to see.

Chuck had knocked at Devon's door on Sunday as he and Mrs. Fitzsimmons trudged to church, but he got no answer. But Devon now obviously knew. His eyes were red; his hands, holding his hat, shook. It was all unlike the man Chuck was getting to know; it was all a testimony to Devon's unhappiness.

"Chuck, do you have a few minutes? Can we talk?"

Chuck came around from behind the desk, stepping down to face Devon. "I'm sorry, Devon. I wanted to be the one to tell you."

Devon nodded and smiled a flat smile. "Thanks, no helping it. The birth was more complicated than I thought. I was worried about the baby. I stayed until he and the mother were stable. So I got back late yesterday. Mark - the sheriff - told me. I just stayed in my apartment after that." He looked at Chuck. "Do you know I live above my office?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Constance, Martin's wife, mentioned it to me at breakfast the other day when I said I knew you."

They stood looking at each other after that, neither sure what to say.

Devon spoke at last. "So you found her?"

"Yes, Nehi was with me."

"And someone had just...buried her...out there."

Chuck nodded. "Yes, it looked like...well, like a hurried thing."

"Are they sure...is the sheriff sure...it was murder?"

Chuck kept careful control of his tone. "She didn't bury herself out there, Devon. And the sheriff found holes in her clothes. Langston found knife wounds on the body." Chuck paused, not wanting to continue. "More than enough wounds to kill her."

Devon slumped onto a bench. He dropped his head into his hands. "My God, Chuck," he smiled bitterly, "I loved her. I wouldn't admit it to myself - but I did. I've not been the same since she...left...I mean, since...since…" His voice grew thick and he could not complete the sentence.

Chuck put his hand on Devon's shoulder. Words were scant comfort at such times. Chuck knew that from his own life.

Devon opened and closed his hands on the desk before him. His head was still hanging.

"Do they have any idea who...who did it?"

"I don't think so, not yet. But she had a comb in her hair," Devon looked up, "no one had seen her with it before. The sheriff showed it to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and she did not recognize it. The thought is that perhaps she got it just before she was killed - that it will point to the killer or to what she was doing before she was killed."

"Did you tell the sheriff what I told you about Shaw?"

"No, I assumed you would. Did you?"

Devon shook his head. "I haven't...yet. David Shaw technically hired me and chose me as the town doctor. I've told you about Daniel.

"I...I don't want to seem like I am pointing a finger at him. After all, as I told you, I saw nothing incriminating. The conversation between them didn't seem angry or upset. I'm not sure if it was Daniel."

"Couldn't you just tell the sheriff you saw someone? Just give a description? Leave Shaw out of it?"

Chuck's mind had gone to Shaw as soon as the shock of finding the body had passed, and around the time the sheriff and Nehi appeared with the men and the wagon. But he had said nothing about it. He had no evidence at all - nothing but his gut and Devon's story. The story was Devon's to tell, and there was no evidence that the man at the window was Shaw.

He had no evidence that Shaw killed Jill, either; but Chuck knew he did. Gut. Intuition.

Devon weighed Chuck's questions. "I suppose so. But, Chuck, there's, there's a new problem."

"A problem? What do you mean?"

Devon twisted up one side of his mouth. "That hair comb, Chuck. I gave it to her."

"You did? When?"

Devon didn't answer. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That night. After I saw her with that man - with Shaw, or with whoever that man was."

"Where?"

"She walked by my office later, after dark, and I saw her. It was my last chance. I invited her to come in. She did. That hair comb belonged to my mother. I had wanted to give it to Miss Reynolds for a long time, hoped to - if the time was ever right."

"So she accepted it?"

Devon shook his head. "No, not at first. She told me I was _overstepping_, that...such a gift was...an intimacy too great for our...friendship. We had words. She was angry; I was angry; I told that I saw her window-conversation with the man. She calmed then, changed her tone. Instead of irked, indignant, she became...receptive. We talked for a time. She let me hold her hand. Before she left, she accepted the comb. She promised she would write to me, but she would not tell me where she was going or why. After she left I was sure I would never see her again or hear from her again."

Devon's eyes were damp. He waited for Chuck to react. Chuck looked up, out a window. He saw Johnny Constance duck out of sight. Chuck looked at Devon; he had not noticed Johnny.

"What should I do, Chuck? Should I tell the sheriff? I mean, I know I should, but like I said, I don't want to seem like I am pointing a finger. If I don't say who I think I saw, that I think it was Shaw, the story is going to seem like nothing more than a flimsy attempt to deflect attention from...me."

"But, Devon, you're the town's doctor. People know you. Where were you after Miss Reynolds left you that night, during the time when she was presumably..._you know_?"

"I was upstairs in my room. I had two bottles of scotch. I spent the next day and night with those two bottles. No one called; I went nowhere. I know where I was - sort of - but no one else does."

"Still, Devon…"

"Look, Chuck, I know you are right, but there are people in this town who don't like me, don't like what I stand for…"

"Justus?"

"Yes, she's the firebrand - but she's not alone." He sighed again. "Chuck - it's not really that I'm so afraid that I'll be seriously suspected of...murder. I'm afraid of that, yes, but it's what happens after... I've managed not to take sides in this town and to avoid even a hint of scandal, my non-church-going aside. I'd like to stay here. But I worry that this...crime...will never be solved, and so I worry that talk will follow me around, follow me forever, interfere with my ability to do my job, a shadow stalking me, but not my own shadow…"

Chuck took his watch from his pocket. Lunch was about to end. "Let's talk more about this tonight. I'm pretty sure that you need to talk to the sheriff. But I have to start school again."

Devon nodded. "Thanks, Chuck. But not tonight. Breakfast tomorrow at Lou's. Let me mull this over tonight and talk to you about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, Devon." Chuck walked Devon to the door and called the students back in. As the students filed past, Chuck saw Devon start toward his office, but then change direction toward The Bar None. He was walking with his head down. Johnny Constance was the final student up the stairs. He stopped and watched Devon with Chuck.

"Doc looks like something is troubling his mind. Wonder what it could be?" Johnny went inside.

* * *

Chuck was walking from the schoolhouse to Mrs. Fitzsimmmons' when he heard Nehi call out his name - or what Nehi treated as Chuck's name.

"Dee-vine!"

Chuck stopped and turned around. Nehi came hurrying toward Chuck. "Hello, Nehi!"

"Unnother long day in them bookish salt mines? So, I's talkin' to Izzbel and she tells me ya bin teechin' her all 'bout You-klid. I doan unnerstan' it, lines 'n suchlike. Now, strings 'n rope, them's I unnerstan', but a - how'd Izzbel say't? - a langth with'n no bredth. That'd be one mighty skinny streeng, more-a hair 'n-a streeng. But a hair'd still be havin' bredth. Cain't get my haid aroun't."

"Come by the school one day and I'll try to explain it."

"But I doan unnerstan why's ya teechin' um 'bout things tain't reel."

Chuck looked at Nehi and pointed back to the top of the schoolhouse's bell tower. "Can you see the bell from here, Nehi?"

Nehi nodded, "My eyes's good as yers, maybes better, iffn our shootin's anny proof."

"Can you get from here to there without walking?"

Nehi looked at him like he was crazy. "Nary a bit. Iffin I's a bee, I cud fly ri' to't."

"Exactly. Good. You could make _a beeline_, right?"

"Shure. A beeline." Nehi said. Then he jerked, turned to Chuck, his mouth open.

Chuck smiled. "Are beelines real, Nehi?"

Nehi stared at the bell tower, then stared at Chuck, then stared at the empty space between them for a while. "I's gonna have-ta study up on that'n." He shook his head, muttering, "A beeline, a beeline." He shook his head again. "I knows it's there, an' I knows i' tain't."

"Any news on the murder today, Nehi?"

Nehi shook his head yet again but in answer to Chuck's question. "Nope, Constance dun rode ta the railway camp. Seems the teecher - the teecher what was, I mean, Miss Reynolds - was inna camp the day a-fore she got keeled. Yer stoodent, Monica Stutts, come an' tol the sheriff bou't this mernin' when she a-come to town. Her father's wi' her and he took 'er back ta camp. Sheriff went wi' em."

"What was Miss Reynolds doing at the camp? I take it she didn't frequent it?

Nehi shrugged. "Nope. It's plumb puzzlin'. No place fer wimmin. Doan knows how Mr. Stutts can let his Monica be there."

Nehi looked at the bell tower again. "That You-klid is plumb puzzlin' too. Say, yer still gonna stand me to m' red-eye and smokes, fer the other day? I knows we didn' git to finish…"

"I owe you, Nehi. But not today, okay?"

"No hurry, Dee-vine. I know yer good, and good fer't."

* * *

Chuck stood at his window, looking out at the sky.

Sunday's dark clouds had become Monday's, and they had hung overhead, unmoving and unmoved, all day long. The late afternoon was unnaturally dark.

Tired from the emotional day, tired of wondering about everything, everything going on inside and outside him, all of it rotating around Sarah's kiss, Chuck moved from the window and sat down in his armchair. He picked up an open copy of Charles and Mary Lamb's _The Complete Tales From Shakespeare_, another of Mrs. Reynolds's books, now (according to Mrs. Fitzsimmons) _Chuck's_ books. He noticed Miss Reynold's name on the fly-leaf of the volume - _Ida Reynolds _\- spiky but clear. He had not noticed her name on the Emerson or on the _Hamlet. _He was gazing at her name, trying to descry something, anything in it, when Mrs. Fitzsimmons knocked and opened the door. She held out an envelope.

"Chuck, this came for you. A man, a _Mr. Casey_ left it."

Chuck got up and took the envelope. "Is he still here?"

She shook her head. "No, he left already. I hardly got a chance to talk to him. Not a big talker, is he?"

"No," Chuck said, "he's not got the gift of gab."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons gave Chuck a concerned look. "I'm going to walk over to Large Mart, see my sister. I will be back in a few minutes."

He turned the envelope toward him. His name was on it, nothing more. He opened it up and took out the single page folded inside. It was from Sarah. Gut. Intuition.

_Mr. Bartowski,_

Mr. Bartowski. Not 'Chuck'. His heart sank.

_I was sorry to hear about Miss Reynolds, and to hear that you discovered her body. That must have been awful. I hate to write to you so soon after such an event, but I feel that I must. __I need to apologize to you. Twice over. _

_First, I apologize for the incident in the barn. I was upset and addled. It was a mistake. It won't happen again. Forgive me for the liberty I took with you, please._

_Second, I apologize for getting upset - angry - with you. You did not do or say anything wrong. I reacted wrongly to what you asked. Forgive me for that too, please. I can be hot-headed, __as_ _you now know. _

_I ask that this note be the end of these matters and that we never speak of them again. I trust your discretion __as_ _a gentleman. _

_Sincerely,_

_Sarah Walker_

Sincerely. Chuck re-folded the note and returned it to its envelope. He held the envelope for a few moments. Sighing, he put it in his jacket pocket along with Sarah's ribbon, the ending next to the beginning. He sat down in his armchair.

He stared blankly for a long time, trying to understand his reaction, the peculiar pain caused by the note. He had not felt that particular pain before. He hoped never to feel it again, even as he knew he would go on feeling it for the foreseeable future. _Sarah's lips, her white dress, her arms around him._

A sliding sound jolted him from himself.

Carina was climbing through his window.

Carina was in his room.

"Howdy, Boston. How are you? I heard about Saturday. The body. Awful, really awful. I've been worried about you." She looked at him. "I was afraid I would find you like this. Well, I'm just the woman to cheer you up."

She was wearing the tight red dress he had seen on her before, the same low white boots. He could see the toes of them beneath the low hem of the skirt.

He made himself smile. But then the smile became real, if weak. Her arrival had cheered him; he was glad of her company.

She took his smile as an invitation and before he knew what was happening, she was seated in his lap, wiggling side to side and smiling at him, a look in her eyes he could not decipher but that unnerved him.

"A little cheer, Boston," she said as she swooped in and kissed him, hard, on the lips, her arms around his neck pulling him to her. He was so shocked he did not respond. She sat back.

"This game is so much more fun when it isn't solitaire, Boston. I want to cheer you up - and want to thank you for coming to see Zondra and helping her boy. You are a fine man, Chuck, and there aren't many." She leaned down, bringing her eyes close to his, hers dancing. "Now, about the game. Are you going to play too?" She put her nose against his.

"Carina, I can't…"

There was a soft knock on his door as it opened. "Chuck, I had to see…"

Sarah Walker stood in the open doorway, her hand on the doorknob, staring at Carina in Chuck's lap.

* * *

A/N2: Thoughts? I'd love to hear from you.


	8. Zigzag

A/N1: Slightly different structure to this chapter. Flashbacks.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT:

_Zigzag_

* * *

Saturday, September 19, 1885  
Idaho Falls, Idaho

* * *

Saturday morning, early. Chuck had his eyes shut but he was awake.

He could smell coffee, bacon, biscuits. The blankets were warm around him. The weather had cooled, fall now definitely in the air, as if the season had awaited the Festival to declare itself. Chuck pulled the blankets up to his chin. He wanted to keep the world out, or keep himself out of the world, for as long as possible.

It had been a long and upsetting week. Monday started it and it kept rolling after that. Chuck wished for unfeelingness - or for forgetfulness - or both. All week long his spirits had been low and his mind overclouded.

Scenes of the week replayed in his mind.

* * *

_Sarah was standing in the doorway to Chuck's room, her hand on the doorknob. _

_Carina was in Chuck's lap, her nose against his. Sarah began to speak as she opened the door, but her sentence never ended. It stayed unfinished, broken into unending ellipses._

_Sarah's face reddened to match Carina's dress. Chuck saw Carina look at Sarah then glance at him. She glanced at Chuck a second time. She jumped up. _

_Sarah had a grey hat in her other hand. She was wearing a grey tailored jacket and a long skirt of the same color, over black boots. Her hair hung long, loose, golden. _

_Carina stepped forward. Sarah, after staring at Carina's form-fitting red dress, looked at Chuck, who, by now, was standing too. _

"_I'm...I'm sorry to interrupt," Sarah stammered, her face the color of Carina's dress. "I have to go." She whirled in place and started down the hall. Chuck stood there, lost. Suddenly, the name for what Sarah was wearing popped uselessly and nonsensically into his head: riding habit. Sarah wore a grey riding habit. Chuck was so surprised and so lost he was beside his reason, unhinged, staring at his empty doorway, his mouth hanging open. _

_He felt a hand tug his sleeve. "Go!" Carina. "If that's how it is, Boston, catch her!" _

_Chuck chased Sarah. By the time he got to the living room, he heard the front door slam. Reaching it, opening it, he saw Sarah. She was past the flowers, and had the reins of her horse, sorrel, in her hands. She swung herself upon it in one impossibly fluid motion, seating herself sidesaddle. Chuck called after her, modulating his voice so as to reach her but not to alert everyone on the street. She turned to him as she turned her horse. Her eyes flashed blue, intense, above a deep, regretful frown. She spoke to her horse and cantered away, no glance backward._

_By the time Chuck got back to his room, it was empty, the window open. _

_Chuck saw Sarah once more during the week, on Thursday, at the funeral for Miss Reynolds. Carina was not there, just as she was not at the Festival. He did not see Carina after the funeral either._

* * *

_Tuesday had been strange. _

_Just before Chuck rang the bell to start the day, he saw the sheriff and Nehi coming out of Devon's office. Devon was between them, and the three of them walked to the sheriff's office, near the schoolhouse but diagonally across the street. The three men looked serious, unhappy. Devon noticed Chuck but did not acknowledge him. Nehi touched the brim of his large hat. They went inside. _

_Johnny Constance proudly shared the news after answering "Here!" when Chuck called his name during roll. "And Doctor Woodcomb's in jail for murdering Miss Reynolds." The room exploded in questions and whispers, Johnny smiling at himself and the hubbub he created. It took Chuck a long time to get the students settled and focused. _

_At lunch that day, Chuck walked out of the schoolhouse and saw Nehi sitting on a bench in front of the sheriff's office. Nehi noticed him and Chuck waved him over. He walked over - his odd, sea-faring, bow-legged gait. _

"_Howdy, Dee-vine. I's a-jes a-ponderin'."_

"_Hello, Nehi. What were you pondering?"_

"_Beelines, some, and men, some."_

"_Beelines and men?"_

_Nehi pushed the brim of his hat back. His beard must have been freshly trimmed the day he and Chuck met, because it was longer now, shaggier, and grey was showing in it more. He gave the hair on his chin a thoughtful tug. _

"_Y'see, Dee-vine. Mens gotta live, and theys gotta make it through evvery day, no matter iffn the man's richer'n Midas or poor's-a church-pest. A day's a day, giv'n t'each the same. No man cain 'scape it. _

"_An some men, like ya, Dee-vine, seem-ta takes a beeline through the day, an' uthers, weell, they's goan all ziiggyzaggy, nary ever-a straight line, " He made a snaky motion with his hand, held out sideways. "I reck'n I'ma one o' the ziggerzaggers." He shrugged meekly. _

"_The Doc in 'ere," he motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, motioned to the sheriff's office, "he's like ya, a beeliner. But't looks like he done ziggyzagged a li'l cause-a a woman." Nehi narrowed his eyes. "Ya ain't a-planning to get all ziggyzaggy on me, is ya, Dee-vine?"_

_Chuck had been unprepared for Nehi's philippic. He stood frozen for a moment on the bottom step of the schoolhouse, a silent congregation of one. _

_Nehi regarded him then went on. "Sumpin' ya need from me?"_

_Unfrozen, Chuck answered. "I see you arrested the doctor."_

"_Well, kinda we did, an' kinda we didn't. He's been in 'ere answerin' Constance's questions. Seems the sheriff's nephew, Johnny Constance, tol' his dad, the sheriff's brother, 'bout the Doc havin' feelin's fer Miss Reynolds. Johnny claimed that there hair trinket ya found was a preesent from Doc. He done tol' the sheriff's that's true. They's still confabbin' together. Doan knows whether we's a-gonna jail 'im er not."_

* * *

_They did not jail him. _

_Chuck visited Devon after school in Devon's office. Chuck had not been inside before. It was a handsome office, decorated with the same developed taste that chose Devon's clothes. Masculine but slightly ornate. Everything carefully placed, tucked away. _

"_So you saw me being taken to jail this morning?" Devon asked without preamble. Devon looked rumpled, harassed, tired. His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven. _

"_I did. I should have said something to you yesterday, Devon, but Johnny Constance must have overheard us talking. I saw him at the window and thought he had only been peeping, not eavesdropping."_

_Devon shrugged. "I was just a bath and a shave from going to see Mark Constance anyway. But why would Johnny be listening in?"_

_Chuck blew out a breath. "I don't know why he started, but, according to his mother, he was infatuated with Miss Reynolds. I've seen enough myself to believe it too. I suspect he began listening out of mischief and kept listening out of anger."_

_Devon laughed soundlessly. "Too bad for the kid. I guess he and I understand each other in a certain way. I bear him no ill will. He just made my conversation with Constance reek of whiskey instead of bay rum. Speaking of which, I need to get cleaned up. I have a couple of late appointments."_

"_So you are not under suspicion?"_

_Devon blinked. "I didn't say that. But not too much suspicion. Only enough to be told to stay in town and to take Nehi with me if I get called out of town." Devon smiled. "Not jail, not house arrest, but call it 'town arrest'. If nothing else, they really can't afford to lock up the only doctor." He tried to smile and almost succeeded._

"_I'm sorry. Let me know if I can help."_

"_I will. And, until this cup passes from me - see, I've read some of your sorts of books, Chuck - you'd be better off giving me a wide berth."_

"_No, Devon. I'd like to call you my friend, and I do not abandon my friends, not if I can help it."_

_Devon shook Chuck's hand. "I do call you my friend, Chuck."_

_They parted. But late that night, well after dark, a group of townspeople gathered in front of the sheriff's office. Mrs. Justus led them. They began to chant accusations against Devon. The sound, coming from up the street not far from Mrs. Fitzsimmons', roused Chuck from his preparations for school. He left the house and walked up the boardwalk, stopping in front of the darkened windows of Patel's Dry Goods Emporium. _

_The group was not large, maybe fifteen. Most were women of an age comparable to Mrs. Justus. Chuck had seen most of them at church or on the street. He did not know many names. He did recognize Emily Whittier's mother. _

_Mrs. Justus stood in front of Devon's door, swinging a lantern. By the time Chuck reached them, they were singing. _

_Sinners, will you come to Jesus?  
Oh! that you would come today;  
Come, before the sword of vengeance  
Cuts you down upon the way,  
Soon the harvest may be gathered,  
And the sheaves collected home;  
Then, in vain you'll call for mercy,  
And, in vain, may wish to come._

_Mrs. Justus' fierce alto voice rose above the others. Chuck stared at the singers, lanterns among them here and there, the flickering, demonic glow of self-righteousness - it flickered in their voices too, not imploring but exultant. The 'you' of the song included none of _them_. It was addressed to Devon. _

_His office lights stayed off and he never appeared. _

_When the hymn ended, Mrs. Justus glowered at Chuck and led the group away. Chuck wondered if he should be numbered with them. He had been singing such a song in his heart for months, not in pity but in hatred, singing it to Daniel Shaw. He was still singing it. And wasn't he - now - thinking of the departing singers as 'you' too? _

_Self-righteousness was Br'er Fox's tar-baby._

_He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned. _

_Mrs. Fitzsimmons was standing there, wrapped in a dark shawl, her face darkened by concern for him. _

"_Please stay out of this, Chuck. If the murderer isn't found soon, this is going to fester. There are old wounds in Idaho Falls, old divisions and hatreds, and this could rip the scars open, make them bleed again _

"_Mrs. Justus has been waiting to claw at the doctor. She's waiting to claw at you too. I've heard things. If you like Dr. Woodcomb, and I know you do, you won't help him by further angering Mrs. Justus."_

* * *

_The town was deathly quiet on Wednesday. _

_Chuck had been able to get Mrs. Fitzsimmons to allow Anthony Rizzo and Faith Stone to come to the house for extra lessons. _

_She had, as Chuck predicted, yielded on the point of her preserves as well. It had taken the exercise of all of Chuck's considerable rhetorical skills to make it happen. But as a result, Chuck worked with two happy children, eyes alight over their studies, their smiles smeared red with jam._

_When they left, Anthony gave Chuck an envelope. In it was a note of thanks from Zondra. And money. A generous amount. _

* * *

_Thursday was the funeral, and the burial in the hilltop cemetery. At the funeral, Sarah did not speak to him, acknowledge him, even look at him. She left before the burial. _

* * *

_Friday after school, Chuck entered the front door at Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. She was standing off to the side of the room, waiting on him, a corner of the curtain lifted, spying out the window. "Mr. Bartowski," she said, "do you realize that this is the third day in a row that Ruth Justus has followed you home? I told you, Chuck. You need to be careful."_

* * *

All at once, Chuck threw the blankets off and sat up, placing his bare feet on the cool wooden floor. He was jangling, out of tune. He had been passive all week, _done to_. He needed to _do_ something.

Some Saturday morning something.

He was to meet Nehi at The Bar None later, after dark, to buy him the shots he owed him. Chuck decided that he would stop by Devon's office on the way and invite him to join.

The doctor had been holed up in his office all week, his meals brought to him from Lou's. He needed to get out of there - not just because the hiding seemed guilty and fueled the Justus-inspired gossip in town, but also because the man had to be in desperate need of fresh air.

But that left Chuck the day.

Nehi had told him on Friday how to get to Walker's ranch. Jenny was available for Chuck to ride. He was going to do it: he was going to go out there. Ride to the Walkers. Perhaps Sarah would talk to him, perhaps not. Probably not. If nothing else, he could see some more of the country and talk more with Jack Walker. Maybe he'd even get a chance to talk to Casey.

He wanted a chance to explain to Sarah, explain to her what had - and _hadn't_ \- been happening in his room. With Carina.

And he wanted to know why she had come. Her letter had sounded like the end of...of whatever it was that had seemed to be between them, of whatever it was that had caused that kiss. But if that was the letter's point, why follow it into town and enter Chuck's room unannounced?

Sarah Walker confused Chuck. To put it mildly.

After breakfast, Chuck marched to the stables. One of the hands got Jenny ready and Chuck set out for Walker's ranch. He was more comfortable astride Jenny than he had been the first time; he was able to keep her moving at a comfortable but not leisurely pace. It took almost an hour to get to the ranch, Nehi said, but as the day reached mid-morning, he knew he was close. His pace had shorted the journey.

He stopped, unstoppered his canteen, and took a swallow of water. Jenny stood patiently, waiting to begin again, Then she whinnied. Chuck looked around and saw Sarah Walker ride out of the brush ahead of him.

She was in the riding habit she wore when she came to his room. She must have spotted him before he spotted her, because she was gazing at him with no surprise in her eyes. He put the stopper in the canteen and hung it from the pommel. He pushed his white hat back, much as he had seen Nehi do. Sarah rode toward him, her beneath her grey hat face neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. Her blue eyes were as intense as when he last saw her when she rode from Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. He sat and waited for her.

She rode up to him and pulled on her reins. "Whoa, Sam," she cooed softly. The sorrel horse stopped.

Sarah sat there in silence. Chuck did too. The horses greeted each other. It seemed Sarah was determined not to speak first, so Chuck started.

"Hello, Miss Walker. Nice day for a ride."

She nodded once, nothing more.

"I had free time today and wanted to get out of my room, um...out of town, so I decided to ride out to your ranch."

"I see. Were you invited? Did my father ask you to come? Did Casey?" She made it obvious that she had not invited him.

"No, and if I am...unwelcome, I can ride back to town. I wanted to see this part of the country. I heard that this area west of town is picturesque."

She nodded, twice this time. Her face became more mobile, less stony: "It's a handsome country." She cut her comment off there and looked away from him. "I'm heading back to the house - the ranch. We can ride together, if you wish."

She did not await response; she turned Sam and began in the direction Chuck was facing. He urged Jenny forward and she followed the other horse. Chuck could see only Sarah's back, the hat, the grey tailored jacket, despite the fact that she was riding sidesaddle.

The sky was blue but festooned with billowy white clouds. They appeared more irregular holes in the sky than objects beneath it. For a moment, Chuck thought that perhaps he could see beyond his side of the blue, up and into a white beyond.

The pathway they followed was sided by pines of various sorts, various greens, various heights. The terrain was noticeably drier than it was in the opposite direction from town, the direction he and Nehi went to practice shooting. To find bodies.

Sarah had not spoken again and had not glanced at Chuck. He spoke to her back.

"Miss Walker - about the other day. Carina Miller, um, the woman who was...in my room. She's a friend of mine," Chuck thought he saw Sarah's shoulders rise. "We met on the stagecoach. She came by to thank me for helping a friend of hers who...works with her at The Bar None."

Sarah finally spoke, her voice flat. She did not turn. "I take it she offers her thanks...professionally?"

"No, no. It was personal. No. I mean, yes, it was personal, not professional, but it wasn't _personal _in quite that sense. I like Carina - I admire her - but I don't have romantic feelings. Not for her."

"Then for her friend, the one you are...helping?"

"No, yes, I like her too, although I don't know her, not even as well as I know Carina, and I don't know Carina well. I don't have romantic feelings for Zondra either."

"Zondra." Sarah, still facing away, pronounced the name, her inflection still flatter than the surrounding landscape. "I think I know her, have seen her. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes. A beauty."

"Um, yes, she's beautiful. So is Carina. But, as I have said, they are my _friends_."

"So," she cast a quick, unreadable glance over her shoulder, "let me get this straight. Our new teacher, the man from Boston, from Harvard, from the Harvard Divinity School, is friends with - and openly admires - women who work..._upstairs_ for Anna Wu?" There was no derision in Sarah's tone, no sneer. Just a hint of real curiosity.

"Yes, that's it, that's the...straight...of it."

They rode on in silence, broken by a smattering of bird calls.

"You are an unusual man, Mr. Bartowski." She did not turn.

"I'd prefer it if you called me 'Chuck'. I wish you'd stayed long enough the other day for us to sort this out."

He saw her shrug, the grey jacket moving up, then down. "Nothing to sort out. I came by on a whim. I was...in town on an errand and...I wondered if Casey had delivered...my letter to you." Despite the halting, her tone was even.

"He did. I had just read it when Carina climbed in my window."

Sarah's head spun around, the deep frown from her visit to Mrs. Fitzsimmons etched onto her face. "Your _window_?"

Chuck bit the bullet. "Yes, she seems to think that is her door."

Sarah turned away from him again. "If someone sees her doing that, she will ruin you, Mr. Bartowski...in this town...as teacher."

"I'm not sure I can control Carina, but...she knows that too; she told me. I'm sure she's been careful. She doesn't want to hurt me."

Sarah huffed. "No, _that_ I certainly believe. She does not want to _hurt _you. I saw her looking at you."

Chuck shook his reins. He and Jenny were synergistic enough now for her to respond. Chuck pulled up even with Sarah. She was still facing ahead but he could at least see her profile.

"I wanted to ask you about that letter...Miss Walker."

"What about it, Mr. Bartowski?"

"What happened in the barn - the…" - he started to use her word from the letter, 'incident', but then decided not to retreat to the detached, generic word - "the _kiss_, our kiss, the kiss you started…" she did not turn to face him but her face colored and he saw the near side of her mouth curl downward, "You asked me to forgive you for it, but did not say you regret it."

Chuck had almost lost his nerve. If he had to say more, he would have lost his nerve.

He saw her black-gloved hands tighten around the leather reins. They rode on for a few yards. A cloud interposed itself between them and the sun; they were enshadowed suddenly; then, just as suddenly, enlightened. "I didn't say that I regretted it," she said, her words neither a simple declaration nor a simple question, but a maddening, complex mix.

"I understand that you are...engaged, Miss Walker...and so I will do as you asked. I will not mention the kiss again. It's just that…" His resolution weakened and his comment trailed off.

"It's just that..._what, _Mr. Bartowsk?"

He took a breath, rallied. "It's just that the letter had a tone of finality. And you addressed it as you just addressed me: 'Mr. Bartowski'. But when you came to my room, you said 'Chuck' as you opened the door. It's a little like you wrote 'stop' and then said 'go'. I don't understand."

As best Chuck could tell, she had plunged into thought. She still did not look at him and he was still trying to judge her reactions in profile.

He saw her chew her bottom lip. And then, in the same soft tone she had used with him in the cemetery and once during the Festival, she asked a short question: "Why does it matter to you to understand?"

Chuck felt the pain of her letter again, the pain of his reaction to it. He also felt the reel his heart had danced when she kissed him, felt her again as the fixed point around which he rotated.

"It matters for reasons I shared with you in the barn - my lips were involved but I admit that the reasons were not _verbally_ given." He waited for a response but all he could see was the side of her mouth curl upward as her shoulders relaxed. "It matters, Sarah, because you matter. You matter to me."

She turned to look at him, her face composed, expressionless. "Personally?"

He smiled. "Most personally."

She smiled too.

She turned and looked ahead. A large ranch house was in view. Sarah's smile vanished. Her face petrified. On the porch, waving at them, was Daniel Shaw. Beside him stood his grey reflection. The reflection was not waving. The grey reflection had to be David Shaw, Daniel's father.

Sarah kicked Sam and moved ahead of Chuck, her shoulders tense. She waved back.

* * *

When they reached the porch that ran all the way along the front of the house, Jack Walker had joined Daniel Shaw and his father.

Jack frowned when he saw who was behind his daughter, but he stood back so that the frown was not visible to the Shaws.

Sarah got off Sam and wound the reins around the hitching post. Daniel jumped off the porch and swept her up into his arms, kissing her. She kissed him back, laughing. They embraced for as long as it took Chuck to reach the porch.

He was trying not to react to the couple, the kiss or the laughter, and his attempt to not look at them caused him to misjudge the distance from his saddle to the ground. He landed awkwardly, and then fell backward onto his butt, and ended up seated in his own little cloud of dust.

Sarah let go of Daniel but he continued to embrace her. She pushed him away gently and walked to Chuck, extending a gloved hand. She looked into his eyes as she did and her eyes were hard. He took her hand and she helped him up, immediately turning from him to Daniel.

"Daniel, I don't think the two of you have been introduced. This is our new school teacher, Mr. Bartowski."

Daniel looked Chuck up and down as Chuck brushed the dust off his backside and then off his legs. He picked up his hat; it had fallen off when he had fallen down.

Daniel took a long stride toward him. "I saw you at church before I left town. I understand I am in your debt for escorting my bride-to-be," he extended his hand without looking, simply expecting Sarah to take it (she did), "to the Fall Festival. Mr. Casey reports that a memorable evening was had by all."

Sarah glanced away. Chuck looked at his boots. Casey walked onto the porch from the house. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Fancypants, minus the Fancypants."

Daniel barked a laugh and pulled Sarah against him, putting his arm around her and holding her there. Chuck forced himself to take a step toward Daniel Shaw and smile.

That smile was the most difficult expression of his life, made all the more difficult by the moments with Sarah that preceded it. But he recalled Jill's beaten body and he managed a smile that measured up. No one reacted strangely to it, despite the forest fire of distemper that blazed zigzag inside Chuck, his now-centerstage hatred for the black-eyed man handling Sarah Walker.

Chuck bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

Casey went on. "Yeah, at the Festival, dancin', Mr. Fancypants here taught Idaho Falls somethin' 'bout the ways the human body can - but shure as hell shouldn't - move. Luckily, your fianceé was there to provide edifyin' contrast, a little like a swan a-swayin' next to a gaddin' buffalo."

Daniel barked another laugh.

Sarah gave Casey a sharp, cold look as she saw Chuck's slumping blush. Casey pressed on. "Shure, though, that there dismount was show enough for everyone to see what I mean."

"I'm sorry," Chuck offered. "I can ride but my long legs make getting on and getting off...tricky...sometimes."

He saw Sarah look at him but then she looked away. "Casey, since you are here, could you help Dad? Take the gentlemen inside and get them something to drink. I'd like to get out of my riding clothes."

Daniel looked at her, giving her a teasing smile. "I'm surprised at you, out riding without me."

Sarah smiled back at him. "I know. I don't normally - but I had a lot on my mind...I mean, with you coming back. I just didn't expect you so soon."

"We made good time on the ride back, Dad and I," Shaw said, preening a little. "I didn't want to spend any more time away from you than absolutely necessary."

He gave her a quick kiss. She squeezed his hand and headed into the house. Casey grunted. "Follow me." Jack looked darkly at Chuck.

Chuck shook his head. "Um, I believe I am going to head back to town. I was just out riding when I happened across Miss Walker. Seeing as how you have company, I would rather not intrude. I'm sure you folks have lots to talk about."

Jack nodded and started to speak.

Daniel broke in. "Do we? Yes, we do! Sarah promised she would set a date when I got back. That's another reason I pushed myself and Dad hard to get here."

"It's time the girl took this seriously," David Shaw said, his first words, his voice like gravel underfoot. "We've waited long enough. Time to make this all official."

Jack led the two Shaws inside and Casey, despite his earlier "Follow me", lingered on the porch. As Chuck mounted Jenny, Casey stepped down and handed Chuck her reins.

He gave Chuck an apologetic look. He spoke softly "Sorry, kid, but if that Shaw boy thinks you're competition for Sarah, he'll kill you, shure. He won't blink; he won't fuss. Hell no, he'll eat-a stack of flapjacks while you're a-bleedin' out."

Chuck looked down at Casey. "I'm no competition for Miss Walker."

Casey narrowed his eyes. "Don't be the fool I pretended you are, Chuck. Now, _git_." He turned and went into the house.

Chuck spat red on the ground. He rode away. _From Hell's heart, I stab at thee..._

* * *

A/N2: Leave me a response, a review or PM? Talk to me, folks.

Tune in next chapter for a visit to The Bar None - a Saturday night on the town! Yee-Ha! Chapter Nine, "Kick Up Your Heels". One chapter to go in Book One.

* * *

A/N3: No pre-readers were harmed in the making of this Western. I hope not, anyway. Thanks to Beckster1213, Chesterton and David Carner.


	9. Kick Up Your Heels!

A/N1: Book One comes to an end.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

CHAPTER NINE:

_Kick Up Your Heels!_

* * *

Chuck couldn't decide whether the cumulative effect of his visit to Walker's ranch was...merely depressing or...utterly depressing.

Sarah had changed as they talked and rode together. Or Chuck believed she had. But then she changed again - in the twinkling of an eye - when she saw Shaw. She became a different woman, different yet than the two women she had been on their short ride together.

_How can a woman who seems so real seem so...numerous?_

Chuck mused and Jenny picked her way back to town at a desultory trot.

It was early afternoon when Chuck entered the shadows of the stables. One of the hands came and took Jenny. Chuck was dusting himself off when he heard a throat clear. He looked up to see Diane Beckman and Langston Graham. Beckman had cleared her throat.

"Chuck, do you have a few minutes to talk with us? We've been looking for you."

Chuck nodded and joined them, his cowboy hat in hand. They walked up the street, past the sheriff's office, to Langston's Mortuary. Langston opened the door and a bell tinkled. Chuck laughed as he entered. Langston gave Chuck a glance. "What's funny, Chuck?"

"I was just thinking about the bell, and thinking about John Donne's _No Man is an Island: _'And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.'" Chuck laughed again, a trace of bitterness mixed in. "Or for whom the bell _tinkles_, I guess." Both Langston and Beckman smiled but neither laughed. Chuck registered their solemn mood and fell silent.

He looked around. The shop was plain, unadorned. A small cross hung on one wall. Away from the door, a counter ran for three-quarters the width of the shop, and on it were two heavy ledgers and a stack of forms. Behind the counter was a doorway into another room, from which wafted a scent, a union of chemical-almond and fresh-sawn wood. Chuck knew the scent from the undertaker's office in Boston where Jill had been taken.

There was a small table near the window and Langston pulled out a chair for Beckman and she sat down. Langston gestured for Chuck to do the same. Langston then seated himself.

"As you have probably guessed," Beckman began, adjusting herself in the chair, scooting forward so that her toes could touch the floor, 'this is not a Board meeting. Despite Mrs. Justus'...continuing efforts...most of your students' parents are overjoyed with the job you are doing. Their children come home full of stories of their teacher, his examples and stories, eager to show their parents what they have learned.

"You have lived up to our expectations, Mr. Bartowski. So, for now, all that is good."

"For now?"

"The murder of Miss Reynolds, _God rest her soul_, and the...possible implication of Doctor Woodcomb - those have made what was already a...complicated...situation more complicated. So far, so good. But do please tread lightly. Now would not be the time to start studying Darwin, for example."

Chuck nodded. "I had no plans for _Origins _yet. And, anyway, both the religiously non-scientific and the scientifically non-religious exaggerate the importance of that book. Of course, for all that, it is a fine book, and true, so far as I know."

Langston broke in. "Well, let's leave our human beginnings until later. No need to push her, push Justus."

"Agreed," Chuck said. "I'll let you know when the time comes for that."

"We wanted to talk to you about the students - and about Miss Reynolds," Beckman explained. She looked to Langston, passing the conversation to him.

"You see, Chuck," Langston said, lowering his voice though only the three of them were in the office, "Miss Reynolds was pregnant when she was murdered. I discovered it when I prepared her body for burial. She was a few months along; she had hidden it well."

Beckman fidgeted uncomfortably. Chuck gulped. "What does that have to do with my students?"

"Nothing, we hope," Beckman offered. "But Doctor Woodcomb has vociferously denied..._knowledge _of Miss Reynolds. Perhaps the mystery man the Doctor Woodcomb claims he saw is responsible, but beyond the two of them, the only people in town she had contact with were her students. And we know Johnny Constance had...eyes for her."

Chuck nodded. "He did. He's taken her murder hard. But why come to me, exactly?"

Langston answered. "Well, we are not comfortable taking this to the sheriff. He knows Miss Reynolds was pregnant but we have not mentioned our concern about his nephew. You see, Chuck, another student claims to have seen Miss Reynolds with Johnny, outside of town. The two of them were...unclothed..._naked_."

"Which student told you this?"

"Emily Whittier. Her mother brought her to me and my husband this morning, after Emily told her the story. So, Bernard knows about this too."

"But Emily is young, next to the youngest in the school."

"We know that, Chuck, and that's another reason we wanted to talk to you. Do you think she is likely to tell tales?"

Chuck shook his head. "No more than any other small girl with a big imagination - and not that sort of tale. I have a hard time believing Emily could collect the raw material for such a tale." He thought of the mother singing outside Devon's office.

"Okay. So, you think she is telling the truth."

"No, I didn't say that. I don't think she is lying, simply making up a story from whole cloth, deliberately misleading you. But she might have seen something she misunderstood or misinterpreted. I'm not suggesting I know what that would be, but I would suggest taking the story with a pinch of salt."

Beckman looked at Langston. "That's what we thought too. We just wanted to know if you agreed."

"But I thought the sheriff went out to the railroad camp, that Miss Reynolds was seen there. Couldn't...she...you know, _there_?"

Langston: "She could've. But the sheriff could find no one to corroborate Monica Stutts' story. And that's another reason we wanted to talk to you. Monica talked admiringly of you to the sheriff. Do you think you could talk to her about seeing Miss Reynolds at the camp, try to figure out whether she's making up a story or making a mistake or what?"

"Okay, I can do that. God, what awful news. A fitting addition to a depressing day."

They both looked at Chuck but he offered no elaboration. Langston showed Chuck and Beckman out, and the two of them parted company outside.

Chuck took a few steps then reversed course and went back into Langston's. The bell tinkled. Langston came out of the room behind the counter. "Yes, Chuck?"

"There's something I've been wondering about, Langston. I can - and will - ask the sheriff, but I wonder what you make of it. We've not heard any more about the Number Gang since I got to town, have we?"

"No, we haven't. And the murder has pushed them out of people's minds."

"Right. But I remember, I think so, anyway, someone saying that the money the Gang the stole from my coach was the _Walker_ payroll. Is that right?"

"Yes, it is. The second time it has happened to Walker. Once, they got the Shaw payroll. The train's not running has put the money on the coach."

Chuck nodded slowly. "So that's the payroll for Jack Walker's ranch, the sheep ranch?"

"Yes."

"Has losing two payrolls hurt him?"

Langston nodded. "Sure. He's weathered the storm but it has been a storm. The bank stepped in to tide him over - at least that's what I believe. I'm not sure about that."

"Did the loss of payroll hurt Shaw too?"

"Yes, but it was one payroll, and Shaw's a bigger outfit with far deeper pockets. He can absorb the loss and go on without stumbling. Walker can't."

Chuck thought about that for a while. "Okay, thanks. One other thing - back to Miss Reynolds. How exactly was she supposed to leave town? Wouldn't she have had to take the coach?"

"No, Chuck, the train was still running in the spring. The bridge had not fallen. The depot was under construction but the train came and went. Everyone assumed she had taken the train... although I guess it _is_ odd that no one claimed to _see_ her leave…I guess everyone assumed someone else had seen her."

Chuck nodded. Another in the list of confusing things the day had brought him.

"So the bridge fell. Was anyone hurt? No one has mentioned it as a tragedy."

"No, there was no train on it. And it did not fall completely. A _section_ fell and put stress on the rest. Repairs have been tricky, but the railroad put a lot of men on it and it will be finished soon. Two more weeks, three…Then the train will be back and things will pick up around here, I hope."

"Okay. Thanks, Langston, although it makes me nervous when an undertaker wishes for things to 'pick up'." They both laughed and Chuck left beneath the tinkling bell.

* * *

Chuck napped after making a bacon sandwich and eating it, his makeshift lunch from breakfast remains he found in the kitchen. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was out; Chuck presumed she was walking with the sheriff.

Chuck woke up in the late afternoon, washed up, and walked toward The Bar None. He stopped, hoping to talk Devon into coming too, but Chuck got no answer to his knock. It was possible that Devon was on a medical call outside the town - but if he was, Nehi would be with him, and Chuck would have no company.

The railroad crowd was beginning to arrive. The noise level and intensity in and around the saloon had ratcheted up.

Chuck felt low, half-angry. The distemper, the hatred of earlier in the day had not left him, had only slightly receded. His puzzlement about Sarah's behavior and Casey's parting comment had further fouled his mood. The gut-wrenching topper was the news about Miss Reynolds.

He walked through the swinging doors out of the darkening afternoon and into the blazing lights and music. The saloon was full, almost every seat was taken at every table. Men were playing cards, smoking, and drinking and laughing, and women, Anna Wu's workers in brightly colored dresses, moved around in the smoky brightness like butterflies near a fire.

Chuck saw Zondra draped on a tall man in a tall black hat. She was nuzzling his neck as he tried to look at his playing cards. His hand rested on her backside.

Carina was standing at the top of the stairs, talking intently to an intense, tiny and dark-haired woman in a jade silk dress. Anna Wu. Anna turned to look at Chuck, following Carina's surprised gaze. The two exchanged words, evidently about Chuck. Carina started down the stairs. Chuck met her at the bottom.

"Boston. Haven't seen you since...the week began."

"Yes, I'm sorry you left so quickly."

"My errand was spoiled, I'm afraid, by the blonde in the gray habit. Miss Sarah Walker, I take it?"

"Um, yes, do you know her?"

"No. I have seen her once from an upstairs window. And little Anthony Rizzo told me about an _angel_ who accompanied you to the Fall Festival. He could talk of little else, all white and gold and dancing. It seems he hid under a wagon, watched the two of you. But his story didn't make it sound like the two of you were involved. In fact," Carina was talking too quickly for Chuck to get a word in, "isn't she also _involved, _as in _engaged, _with David Shaw's son?"

"We aren't involved, Carina. I don't know what happened in my room, but we are not involved."

She gave him a cool, appraising look, shaking her head. "You're a greenhorn, Boston, no doubt, but you can't be _that_ clueless. You two are involved, even if you both deny it. I saw the way she looked at you - and the way she looked at me. And the way you looked at her." She paused. "I'm not happy about it but I am also not big on living under an illusion, like certain others." She finished with a pointed look at Chuck.

Before he could respond, she started again. "But this isn't just bad news for me, Boston. It's bad news for you. _Daniel Shaw_: I don't know him but a couple of the girls here have _worked _under him, and he - let's just say, I've been told he likes to hurt the one he loves."

Chuck felt his heart plummet into his stomach even as he seethed. Shaw had hurt women here too. He was going to marry Sarah.

Anna Wu had come down the stairs and heard the last comment, the one about Shaw. She shrugged. "He pays _extra_. There's never been any permanent damage, just some bruising."

Carina gave Anna a baleful stare. "Like that makes it okay? I've told you, don't let him near me or I will cut it off him and feed the wormling to him."

Anna glared at Carina. "You are supposed to work _for me_, so you take orders from me. The customer's pleasure dictates." She let that hang in the air a second. "But this probably doesn't matter. He's been on his best behavior since he got engaged. He's not been upstairs once."

"Who hasn't been upstairs?" Zondra asked, joining them and looking at Chuck. Across the room, the tall, black- and tall-hatted man was still playing at cards,

"Daniel Shaw," Carina said, giving Zondra a look.

"Zondra," Chuck said before Zondra could respond, "I have something for you."

He pulled the envelope out of his pocket that Anthony had given him. "The money is all still there. I thank you, but I can't accept it."

Zondra reddened instantly, her eyes flashed. She hissed: "What, you're too good to accept the money I earned on my back? It spends just the same, you _bastard_."

Carina whirled to glare at Chuck.

"No, no, Zondra," Chuck said, waving his hands at both. "I want to tutor Anthony for free, for you, as a favor, it has nothing, nothing at all to do with how you earned the money. I'm not your judge." _Only my own. And Shaw's. _"I'm helping you as a friend helps a friend. I may be teaching him, but I am doing it...personally, not professionally." Sarah flashed into his mind, their ride and talk.

Zondra calmed herself. "Oh, okay, Chuck. I'm sorry. But you should keep it. The money. Maybe you could use it to buy supplies for the school?"

Chuck thought about it, then agreed. He put the envelope back in his pocket. He noticed Anna Wu's sharp eyes follow it, and then shift back to Zondra.

"See ya, gotta get drinks for Stove Pipe over there. He thinks he's getting lucky at cards and later getting lucky with me, but with any luck, he'll be asleep in his mug before I have to make a call, and will already have spent enough to satisfy the boss." Zondra glanced at Anna and walked away. Anna Wu followed but she went behind the bar, while Zondra stayed in front and gave Jeff the drink order.

Chuck felt Carina's hand on his. "I'm not saying this because I'm jealous, even if I am. Let Sarah Walker go. She's had time enough to know the devil whose ring she wears, and she's chosen her fate. You can't save everyone, Boston, sometimes not even the ones you care about most - and sometimes they're the ones you have the least chance of saving."

She faced him, her eyes intense. "Let me save you. _Listen to me_. There _are_ other women who could make you happy. Some of them might surprise you. A lot.

"Why chase one woman who's involved with two men at the same time. Let her go."

Chuck squeezed Carina's hand. "I'll try. I will."

She gave him a sad and sympathetic look. "I know. And I know you'll fail. It just goes that way, sometimes. Hearts have reasons reason doesn't comprehend."

Chuck's eyes widened. "_Blaise Pascal_? Really, Carina? I haven't thought about him for a long time."

Her mood shifted and she grinned. "I told you I read books with _words_, not just books with pictures. And that includes the ones translated from French. Well, most of them…Some of the French ones do have rather _educational_ pictures."

"Well, well, well, we meet again, Mr. Bartowski."

Chuck turned to see Daniel Shaw. It was obvious immediately that Shaw had been drinking - and since he had just arrived, he had been doing it elsewhere. He weaved irregularly on his feet. Beside him stood another man. It took Chuck a second to place the man's face, but then Chuck knew him: he had been following Sarah the day she asked Chuck to go to the Festival. The pole-leaning lurker.

Carina moved in front of Chuck but turned to face him, her back to Shaw. She drew Chuck to her and kissed him passionately. Chuck stood limply, his arms dangling. Shaw could not really see that, however, and the kiss seemed to confuse him. It sent him toward the bar and away from Chuck.

Chuck shook his head, reorienting. "Um, thanks, Carina?"

"The sacrifices I make to keep you upright, Chuck. You really are a handful." She led Chuck to the other end of the bar, away from Shaw, and Chuck, to Carina's surprise, ordered a beer.

Once it was in his hand, and after a good long swallow, he asked Carina if she knew where Nehi was.

"With the Doc. That baby he delivered. There are complications. So Nehi took the Doc out there. Can you believe anyone thinks that man killed a woman? This town is a ship of fools."

Carina got a cup of coffee and stood to talk with Chuck for a while. He drank another beer. When he woke up that morning, he had wished for unfeelingness or for forgetfulness. He was finding it in liquid form. A third beer. He had never been a drinker, and the beer began to affect him quickly.

Shaw had been drinking fast and furious on the other end of the bar, eyeing Chuck. He came around to Chuck's end of the bar, elbowing Carina aside. "I don't know what you are playing at, teacher." Shaw looked at Carina with a leer. "But Sarah Walker set a date today. Summer. June. _June_. She wants to marry me in _June_. In ten goddamn months. And, I accepted it but when my father toasted us, she started crying, bawling, right there with me beside her, right in front of my father. Then she ran upstairs."

Shaw leaned toward Chuck, his face just an inch or two away, his words slurry but understandable. "Now, she'd been dragging her feet, and that's a woman's prerogative, but I was expecting a date this month, maybe next. She led me to believe that's what she had in mind. But then you show up in town, and she asks if you can take her to the Fall Festival. I think: _he's a joke, sure, why not?_ It's like sending Sarah with another _girl_. But then she's out riding when she should be at home waiting for me, and she comes home trailing...you."

He leaned in closer and Chuck instinctively stepped back, but could only move a short distance. His back was against the bar.

"I'm not having this, schoolmarm. I'll not have my woman mooning over some book-loving tenderfoot. I tell you this once and this once only. If I ever see you so much as look at her again, I will make sure _you_ regret it." He leaned closer, the whiskey on his breath filling Chuck's nostrils, and he added, in a whisper, "or I will make sure _she _regrets it." Shaw glanced at Carina, then returned his eyes to Chuck. "Or maybe I'll make sure _everyone _regrets it."

Shaw stepped back and wobbled.

His friend steadied him. He leaned forward and whispered once more into Chuck's ear, his hands on Chuck's shoulders. "Make one wrong move, and someone you care about will regret it. Eyes'll be on you all the time, schoolmarm. There's nowhere you can go in this town to get away from me." Shaw pointed to his own eyes with his index and middle finger making a 'Y', then he pointed the fingers at Chuck, almost poking them into Chuck's own eyes.

With that, Shaw and his friend left, the doors swinging behind them.

Chuck wondered if it were possible to kill a man twice.

The saloon had gone tomb-quiet. As the doors swung, it burst back into loud noise. Carina watched the doors swing, a hard, calculating look on her face. "Son of a bitch. He can't get away with that. What did he say to you, Chuck."

"Nothing."

Carina glared, turning her head to Chuck. "Sure, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, because he _loves _you. Bullshit, Boston."

Chuck said nothing. Carina stomped her foot in frustration and repeated herself. "He can't get away with that."

Anna Wu spoke. She had moved to that end of the bar but was still on the other side. "Yes, he can." Not a challenge, just a registration of fact.

Chuck ordered two more beers and drank them quickly. Carina walked most of the way with him as he staggered back to Mrs. Fitzsimmons', but she had to get back to the saloon. "You need to stay away from The Bar None, Chuck, away from me. End of story." She returned the way the came.

After she left, Chuck stumbled through one of Mrs. Fitzsimmons' flowerbeds but managed to do no more damage.

The night was cloudy, dark. Chuck got to his room and stretched out on his bed.

He felt rubbery, vague, all over, stretched into some definite but unnameable shape. He stared up at the ceiling. The ceiling stared down at him.

He couldn't seem to get the memory-odor of Shaw's breath out of his nose. It mixed with the memory-odor of Miss Reynold's corpse.

Chuck felt like he was going to vomit. Laying perfectly still, he outlasted the nausea, and as it subsided, he fell asleep.

* * *

His room was dark. Pitch black. But Chuck was awake; awake, but unsure why.

Then he knew. Movement awakened him. Someone was moving around in his room. He stayed absolutely still.

The bed moved. Chuck felt someone climb onto the bed.

He cracked his eyes. He could see no one.

Then he saw; his eyes began to adjust. He saw her - or saw her face. Her blonde hair. Her blue eyes. The blue ringed red from crying.

It was as if she were bodiless, her body part of the dark - as if only her face existed, or it seemed so until she leaned her torso against his, rested her head on his shoulder.

He felt the cool, the cool air. The window, his window was open.

She was impossibly warm against him. "I'm so sorry, Chuck. I shouldn't be here but I…I had to come...I couldn't stay away. One last time..." She kissed him gently then put her head back down. She was quiet for a moment.

"I had to do it...have to do it, Chuck. _Pretend_. My dad...Today, I set a date in June. I thought anything could happen between now and then, the way _you_ have happened. But David Shaw, he stayed after Daniel left...Dad...I have to move the date to next month, the end of October." She sobbed against him, her body shaking.

"I thought maybe I could do it, pretend...pretend to love Daniel. I...know how to pretend. I have pretended…" She stopped, choking.

Her voice shrank as she went on. "Maybe I could have done it...if you hadn't come to Idaho Falls...But I can't pretend with you near, Chuck, so real, making my pretense impossible. You must stay away from me. I must stay away from you.

"It's not just the pretending. The Shaws have an army of men, heavily armed, mounted. Most of the men who work for Dad don't even own a gun; they herd sheep. Most don't ride. Constance and Nehi cannot turn back an army."

Chuck finally moved. He put his arms around her.

He felt her tremble. Then she was still for a moment.

"If David or Daniel believes I...care for you, they will...hurt you. Physically, or some way. I can't let that happen to you. You're good. What you are doing here, what you represent here, it's important.

"So, in the morning, we have to be done with each other. I was right to send my letter and...wrong, weak, to follow it, to try to take it back. To talk to you today. But sending that letter felt like amputating part of myself..." She kissed him again, long and slow and deep. Then she kissed him over and over quickly, hungrily.

At last, she pulled her head back so that he could just make out her face, her eyes. "You must think I am crazy or cruel or both. I'm sorry, Chuck. You see, I was at the house when they brought your application materials to my Dad. They left them with me. Dad was away, hunting, overnight. I read your application and then I read it again - and again.

"The letters about you..._touched_ me. Your letter about yourself touched me. Did you know your sister sent a letter?" Chuck shook his head, a little lost.

"She did and it is the one that...did me in. I...I had been...I was...waiting for you to come to Idaho Falls, Chuck. Hoping that you would be the man on those pages. And you are that man, that man, and more. I didn't believe a man like you could exist. But I can't have you, Chuck, not even if...you want me. I can't. I've got no choice…" Chuck pressed his hand to her lips.

The nearness of her. Her body pressed to his. The scent of her, routing the memory-odors that had sickened him. It was all wonderful, all too much. He was still half-drunk, and reeling again.

"I do want you, Sarah."

He felt her squeeze him hard. "Hold me, then. This is all we have, all we get. It has to last."

They held each other in silence. Then she spoke. Her voice sounded far away, almost as if someone else were speaking.

"I told Dad that if I marry Daniel, the service will be a burial, not a marriage, that if I have to walk down the aisle, he should bring my coffin along."

Chuck squeezed her hard and they held each other, holding on for dear life, trying to hold onto the night, dreading the light. After a time, they were both asleep.

* * *

Chuck woke to the throbbing of his head. _Boom, boom, boom. _Slow-time funeral march.

He felt caged inside a bass drum. His lips were dry. He licked them. He thought of her, of Sarah, thought he tasted her. Instantly, he rolled over. The bed was empty.

He glanced down at himself. He was wearing the clothes he had worn to The Bar None. His boots were off, but he could not remember removing them. But most of the evening was muddy and out of focus. He could remember Carina, and a confrontation with Daniel Shaw.

And Sarah. In his room, in his bed, in his bed, holding him and being held.

He sat up. The throbbing worsened. He looked around the room. There was no evidence that Sarah had actually been there. The bed was mussed but he could have done that, tossing and turning alone. A dream, it had been a dream.

He rubbed his temples. And then he noticed that his room had changed.

His Swedenborg had been on his nightstand. He kept it there. It was gone.

A black cowboy hat, upside down, lay on the floor below his window.

Chuck thought of _Moby Dick, _of Ishmael at the end, clutching a coffin on endless waters: _And I only am escaped alone to tell thee. _Chuck was not exactly alone, but he felt like it.

* * *

_**End of **_

_**Book One:**_

_**Bring My Coffin Along**_

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

A/N2: More to come in _Book Two: The Hells Are Everywhere. _Soon to appear on electronic screens everywhere. _Er_, um, here and there.

Let's call roll. Let me know if you are present; drop me a line. I hope you've enjoyed Book One and are as excited for Book Two as I am!

There will be a brief intermission between Book One and Book Two. Intermission Music: _Wild West Music Whistle_ \- check it out on Youtube!

_\- Zettel Grey_


	10. Overlook

A/N1: A prelude to Book Two, much as Chapter One was to Book One.

The narration grows more complicated.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER TEN:

_Overlook_

* * *

Wednesday, September 30, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Near the top of the hill, Sarah Walker, head hanging, sat astride an alert, deep-chested black stallion.

Rider and horse sat darkly in the dark shadow of a great pine, the shadow lengthening; the gathering evening made the outlines of the pine's shadow vague, dark bleeding into the growing dark.

Everything was darkening.

Sarah felt lost and alone, adrift. She forced herself to sit up straight in the saddle.

Sarah reached up to lower her hat but realized, again, that she did not have it. The nervous gesture was futile. _Futility. _She had left her hat in Chuck's room the last time they had talked. _That night_. More than talked - when they held each other. _Chuck. _

She named the ache inside her.

In the almost two weeks since that night, she had not been able to get away from the ranch alone. She had not been to town. Her father, David Shaw, or Daniel, or one of Daniel's men, was always around, around, always watching, watching. _Watching_. She was a field mouse on bare ground, exposed beneath a parliament of owls.

But Daniel was out of town again for a few days. Her father had gone hunting. Casey has run interference with Daniel's man. Casey did not ask her why she wanted him to do it; he just did it. But he told her to take care. _He knows my heart is in town. _She had gone to her room, donned her riding habit, and she had left the ranch house.

She mounted her sorrel, Sam, and rode him to a small farm near the ranch.

It was run by a past foreman of the Walker ranch, now too old and infirm to work. Her father had given the house and the land to the man, Justin Villa, and his wife, Yvonne. _A gesture of thanks. There would be no Walker ranch without the Villas. _The two were Sarah's closest friends and, in effect, her grandparents - as close as she would ever have to the reality.

Justin kept the black horse there for Sarah. The horse was wild, unbreakable, half-mad. Bloodthirsty. But Sarah broke him - or, better, she won a meeting of hearts and minds with him. He would let no one else near him. They kept him penned, quarantined, as it were, shut away from the other horses. He had killed two who had been penned with him.

No one on the ranch missed him when she took him to Justin; everyone had given up on him, despite his grandeur. They called him _Demonio_. Sarah did not name him. He was too much horse to name. But he knew her, her voice and soul, knew her as his rider. And she knew him, his whinny and spirit, knew him as her horse. All the rest were details.

Sarah changed clothes in Justin's barn, put on her black shirt and pants, and her long black cloak, pulled as much of her hair as she could beneath a large black bandana. Then she climbed on the black horse and rode away.

She had ridden to the spot where she first laid eyes on Chuck.

_She had hoped to catch just a glimpse of him as the stage went past, but she had been forced to take a long way around. She had feared she would miss her glimpse, despite her horse's furious speed beneath her. Instead, she arrived to see Bob, obviously dead, on the road, and to see the hold-up in progress. She had a small hunting knife with her, but no rifle, no pistol; she had not intended to target-shoot, as she sometimes did on her black-garbed outings. _

_She could discover no tactic to intervene without worsening the situation. She could not risk Shaw knowing what she had done, wondering why she had been just there, just then. So she sat in unbearable tension and held her breath, trembling for Chuck and the others. Through a trick of acoustics, rocks and trees, she had been able to hear what was said below her and to hear Chuck resist Number Two. _

_Chuck thrilled her heart. She heard Two list the items in Chuck's pillowcase (_pillowcase!_), she memorized the short list. She was surprised he had a gun. After staying long enough to see Chuck's reaction to Bob's corpse, she left. She glanced back to see Chuck carrying Bob to the coach, then she crested the hill and could see no more. She rode at a distance behind the stagecoach as it headed to town. Once it arrived safely, she turned her horse and rode to Justin's. She changed clothes and horses and returned to the ranch. _

Now she was in that spot again and trying to coax her heart into manageable order. She had to give Chuck up. She had to for his sake and for her father's, for the ranch's sake. If she did not marry Shaw, she might start another range war, a major one this time, and not just Chuck and her father but all her father's men - and even the men's families - might suffer for it.

Sarah did not believe she was under any illusions about Shaw. She knew he was an arrogant, cruel man. Her life with him would be long and loveless and lonely - if not...worse. She wondered, though, if it would also not be justice.

She had a past that shamed her - a crooked past that had led her and her father and (eventually) her mother to Idaho Falls, that had allowed them to buy the land and build the ranch. After traveling her crooked path, what right did she have to travel the straight and narrow path with Chuck? With Chuck, she thought, there was no shadow of turning.

A life with Shaw - that was her punishment, and her father's, for their past.

All Sarah did was turn, turn, turn. Even after her father 'went straight', there was still the turning, turning, the constant hiding of the past, fear of its revelation. _The shadowy past_. Sarah's mother had helped them both, and if Emma had lived, maybe all this, Sarah's life, would be different, better. But Emma had not lived, and Sarah had not had her mother long enough to master her mother's gentle candor, her mother's soft sweetness. Sarah knew she had it in her, as her birthright, but when she found it and showed it, as she had to Chuck that day at the cemetery, it always seemed to worsen her situation, not help it. Maybe her mother's death was a punishment too.

She took a breath and held it, released it slowly.

She reached behind and to her side and opened up a saddlebag. She pulled out the book she had taken from Chuck's room, the one Number Two mentioned in the hold-up, Swedenborg. _Heaven and Hell. _

She wondered at the 'and'. Why not 'or'? Who was this Swedenborg?

Opening the cover, she saw Chuck's name on the fly-leaf. She rubbed the name gently and softly with her hand.

_What does this book mean to Chuck? _

_Why would he carry it all the way out here - the only book he carried? _

_Did he keep my ribbon?_

Her horse pawed the ground restlessly beneath her. He was not used to her reading in the saddle. He was unsure of what she was doing, of what, if anything, she needed or wanted from him. She shut the book carefully and placed it back in her saddlebag. Reaching down, she stroked the horse's neck, soothing him.

As the sun forfeited the day, she took one long, last lingering look around.

The horizon shined orange, as if the meeting of earth and sky created a vehement heat, as if the horizon was ablaze. But vaulted above the orange was a deep, still blue. The landscape was overpowering, mighty and inscrutable. Sarah loved this country dearly. Her love of it was one of the reasons she and her black horse went on their secret journeyings.

She considered the beauty around her. Her breast swelled. - It was heaven.

She blessed Chuck, he lost to her. She cursed Daniel, she ensnared by him. Her heart ached. - It was also hell.

Heaven _and_ hell.

* * *

A/N2: And so Book Two begins. In case you are confused, we haven't _switched _POVs, we've just _added_ Sarah's to Chuck's.

Drop me a line, pretty please?


	11. Chew, Chew

A/N1: Last chapter, we checked in on Sarah; now, we check in on Chuck. Still getting Book Two underway.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

_Chew, Chew_

* * *

Thursday, October 1, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

_[T]hat we would do We should do when we would: for this 'would' changes  
__And hath abatements and delays as many  
__As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;  
__And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh,  
__That hurts by easing. _

_Hamlet, _Act IV, Scene vii

* * *

Chuck stood in the Idaho Falls crowd, waiting with them for the train.

The work on the bridge finished early. Other trains, an engine and a car or two, had come to town already, testing the new bridge. The first one had been met with a buzzing crowd too, but the tone had been one of relief, not celebration. This evening was to mark the arrival of the first regular train in Idaho Falls, the resumption of unencumbered trade and travel.

Chuck noted Carina in the crowd. She was in the blue dress she wore on the stage coach, her sequins dazzling in the afternoon sun. Zondra was beside her, holding Anthony's hand. The boy was standing on his tiptoes, trying to see the depot, to catch sight of the train as it arrived. Anna Wu, jaded in her usual silk dress, was standing near Carina, Zondra, and Anthony but Anna did not seem to be with them, only near them. It was the first time Chuck saw Carina since the scene with Shaw in The Bar None. She had stayed away and Chuck had been trying to do what Carina demanded he do; he was staying away.

Chuck also picked out Mrs. Justus on the other side of the crowd, scanning it, her face contracted in distaste. Much nearer to him, Chuck saw Ruth Justus - but she noticed his look turned away as soon Chuck saw her. Chuck caught Carina looking at Ruth and at him. Carina nodded to him and a small smile flitted across her face then disappeared.

The train whistle screeched and Carina looked toward the depot. Chuck did too. Smoke from the smokestack of the train was visible above the trees although the train itself was still invisible. It would arrive in moments.

Chuck dropped his head and continued his train of thought...the cars coming in no order, all higgledy-piggledy...

The last week and a half had been difficult for Chuck. Very difficult. A sense of sore distraction, of anxious futility, had hunted him each day, found him each day.

Sarah had come to his room and told him what was happening, the vicious trap she was in. They had held each other the night long. Chuck had been overwhelmed by her visit, and had been somewhat the worse for beer - he had not managed to say much beyond telling her what was absolutely true, that he wanted her. Holding her and kissing her - he had managed that too.

He had to keep her from marrying Daniel Shaw, to help her. He wanted to tell her what he suspected - knew - about Daniel. But he had no evidence, not a single shred of real evidence. And if he told her, he would just make her vicious trap more vicious, sharpen its teeth. He had no proof. Without it, even if Sarah believed him, no one else likely would, and Daniel Shaw could turn the whole affair against Chuck and likely against Sarah too, treating it as if it were nothing more than an attempt to renege on their engagement. No, Chuck needed to save Sarah, and, doing that would require doing what he had vowed to do, killing Shaw.

And he was not going to do that by shooting him from cover somewhere. He was going to do it in a gunfight. A fair fight. He would kill Shaw, but he would not murder him - he would kill Shaw or die trying. His conscience wrestled with his vow from the beginning, but it refused to allow Chuck to gun Shaw down, to kill him with a rifle, say, from a safe distance. No, it had to be face to face - and Shaw had to know what Chuck knew.

He had gone out shooting twice since Sarah's visit to his room. He had finally gotten his first pay, and he had bought a holster. Nehi had not been happy, and although he helped Chuck work on learning to draw, it was clearly done under protest.

"Iffin you was-a drawin' agin a wee bean plant, that bean plant'd grow up an' shoot ya a-fore you got that gun outter ya hol'str. Unless yer plann' to draw agin-a stone, yer just practicin' the pose ya'll be a-dyin' in."

Chuck kept doggedly at it. He got better - but he knew he was still no match for Shaw.

The train's return had made everyone in town start thinking in timetables.

But the timetable that mattered to Chuck was not the train's, but Sarah's: she was scheduled to marry Shaw at the schoolhouse the morning of October's final day.

If it had not been for the train's return, the wedding would have dominated the talk in Idaho Falls. Miss Reynolds' murder, while still on the minds of folks, had been sequestered as yesterday's news. It was a topic of curiosity and cracker-barrel conversations at Patel's, but it was not the first topic of conversation.

Sheriff Constance, while never declaring that Devon was no longer suspect, did lift his restrictions on the doctor's travel. Mrs. Justus and her crowd were intent on doing without a doctor rather than support a murderer, and so Devon's practice was suffering. But he walked about town with his head up and kept working. Still, during conversations together in his office, Devon let Chuck know how badly it all bothered him. He was not sleeping; he had lost weight. He felt like even the patients who stayed loyal eyed him when he tended to them.

The news that Miss Reynolds had been pregnant was still not known, except to Chuck, the Sheriff, and Diane Beckman and Langston Graham. Emily Whittier's story had not been confirmed, even after Chuck and others talked carefully with the students. Ruth Justus had talked to Chuck twice about Miss Reynolds, and Chuck thought that she was working her way toward revealing something, but so far she hadn't.

Johnny Constance was harder to manage, morose. Brooding. Twice he had deliberately run into Devon on the street, bumping him violently, but he had never said anything to the doctor, just glared and went on. Johnny refused to participate in class. He sat, his arms folded, staring out the window. Chuck tried various stratagems but nothing worked: Johnny withdrew and kept withdrawing from everyone. Martin and Mirabelle Constance had visited with Chuck. He was as difficult and sullen at home, with them, as he was at school. They had all talked but came up with no real plan.

Plan. Chuck had vowed to avenge Jill's death, to kill Shaw. What he would do, he should do. But he had no plan when he made the vow. Soon afterward, he found out about the empty teaching post in Idaho Falls while trying to learn more about Shaw's home, the place he was supposed to have gone after leaving Boston. Chuck applied for and got the job - but he still did not have a plan. He had no means in mind to take him from will to deed. He arrived and met Sarah and started teaching. And now, here he stood, the train whistle piercing, closer and closer, like Sarah's wedding day, and his whole plan was to have a gunfight with Daniel Shaw. A man who would kill him easily.

_Sigh. _

_So much for my Harvard education... _

His train of thought ended as the train came to a whistling, hissing stop at the depot. The crowd gave a collective shout: "Huzzah!" A moment later, passengers began to show. The conductor stood near the engine, his watch out, tapping his foot. A team of men had collected near a boxcar and they swung its doors open, propping a ramp up to the opening.

With the exception of those in the crowd expecting a passenger, the rest of the crowd milled about, unsure, really, what to do now that the train had arrived and the shout had been shouted. Chuck idly watched the men unloading boxes…

* * *

"Chuck!"

Chuck turned back toward the front of the train. Standing there in a group were Ellie, Molly, and Morgan. Molly had spotted him and she let go of Ellie's hand and came running toward Chuck, shouting his name again. Chuck stood there open-mouthed. She crashed into his legs and hugged them as hard as her small arms would allow, then she looked up, up, up into Chuck's astonished face.

"Molly?"

* * *

At the schoolhouse that morning, while the younger children worked on spelling, Chuck had taken the older students back to the beginning of _Hamlet. _

Over the past school days, they had worked through key speeches in the text, but now Chuck wanted to help them to understand the speeches as part of an unfolding drama.

They had dwelt a long while on the scene in which Hamlet sees his father's ghost in the frosty moonlight, and particularly on Hamlet's vow-making speech as the scene ends, in Act I, Scene v. Hamlet solemnly resolves to wipe away all else from his mind but his father's ghost and his thirst for vengeance.

Chuck read the speech aloud, dramatically, ending with a whispered, intense "I have sworn 't."

Chuck sat silent after reading the speech, sat silent for so long that the students became uncomfortable. He stared at the page. After gripping himself, Chuck turned to the class: "How much of a gap can there be between a vow and the deed vowed before we regard the vow as idle - an empty boast, or a mere wish - and no longer as a real vow?"

The students looked at Chuck, blank. All except Johnny Constance. He stared out the window. After a moment, Monica Stutts, in class that day, raised her hand. "I don't think there a fixed answer to that question, Mr. Bartowski. Wouldn't we care about the reasons for the gap between the vow and the deed? I mean - what if I vowed to visit a sick friend, but someone tied me to a chair?"

Chuck smiled. "That's good, Monica, very good. Hamlet vows here, but he will delay and delay. Should we take his vow seriously, given the delay, his _vacillating_? No one ties him to a chair. It takes him until the end of the play to kill his usurping uncle."

"What 'vacillate' mean, Mr. Bartowski?" Monica was never one to pretend to understand when she didn't.

"Webster says that to _vacillate_ is - to waver; to move one way and the other; to reel or stagger."

"Oh, well, given what we have discussed, I see that Hamlet does vacillate, he wavers. He wants to be sure - or at least that's what he says - but he takes his father's ghost to have told him the truth, so he should already _be sure_. What is...natural evidence...against..._supernatural revelation_?"

Chuck smiled at Monica. The other students gazed at her with admiration. "What, indeed, Monica? So, is Hamlet shrinking from his vow then, trying to worm his way out of it?"

Monica fell into thought.

Ruth Justus raised her hand. "Mr. Bartowski," she smiled shyly, "can't his vow be real even if he...vacillates? Doesn't his wavering itself show the vow is real, because it is partly responsible for his wavering. A mere wish wouldn't make the man waver, would it?"

Chuck was surprised. Ruth's answers had lately grown more eager, more insightful. "That's good, Ruth, very good. So, what do you think we should say about Hamlet?"

She shrugged, shy again. "I don't know, but I don't think he's idly boasting or merely wishing. He's made a serious vow, and he takes it seriously. He just isn't sure he can bring himself to do what he promised to do. Not because he's...changed his mind...but because he...maybe...overestimated himself when he made the vow. Overshot the mark. If I promise to...jump ten feet into the air and I believe I can when I make the promise, but I later begin to doubt whether I can actually do it...does that make my promise an idle boast.? I _believed_ I could do it…"

"Right," Monica broke in, excited, "but then you began to doubt that you can do it. But...you can _try…_"

"Sure, Monica, Ruth, you can try. But vowing to try to do something differs from vowing to do it, right?"

Both girls nodded. But Ruth spoke. "Yes, but all you can ever do is try."

"Maybe," Chuck said, "maybe; but if I try and fail, did I keep my vow to do the thing?"

"No," Monica answered slowly, "but, maybe, you now have an _excuse._ You can truly say you tried but failed."

"So, does Hamlet have an _excuse_ for his vacillating? Is he even trying?"

The class chewed on that for a while without answering.

So did Chuck.

* * *

Nehi was sitting at the table with Mrs. Fitzsimmons when Chuck finished with school.

Chuck was hoping to talk Mrs. Fitzsimmons into making him coffee and a sandwich before he went to watch the train arrive.

Nehi was eating a donut. He had it in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. A pile of donuts, still warm, was on the table. Nehi gestured to them with his half-eaten one and made a sound that seemed to indicate that Chuck should help himself. Mrs. Fitzsimmons walked in, coffee in one hand, an empty cup in the other. Sheriff Constance was behind her, a donut dwarfed in each of his huge hands.

Chuck sat down and grabbed a donut. Mrs. Fitzsimmons poured him a cup of coffee. "Good afternoon, everyone," Chuck said.

Nehi and Constance both nodded, mouths still full. Chuck broke his donut in half and dipped it in his coffee. Constance, finishing his bite, shook his head. "S'that a Boston thin'?"

Chuck shrugged. "I learned to do it in Boston. I'm not sure it's a Boston thing. You don't dunk out West?"

Nehi gave him a hard look. "Out 'ere, we beleeve 'n the holiness o' the doughn't, Dee-vine. 'Sprized ya doan beleeve 'n it too, seein' as yer a beleevin' sorta man."

Chuck laughed. "Sort of. Holiness, Nehi? Do you mean that in the fleshly or the spiritual sense?"

Nehi looked lost. "Huhn? What's yer meanin'?"

Chuck picked up a whole donut and looked through it at Nehi. It took Nehi a few seconds, and then he laughed. "Ha! Well, Dee-vine,them missin' center's annother o' them You-klid puzzles. Them holes is part o' the doughn't, but them holes ain't there, so they cain't be part o' the donut. That seem right-ta ya?"

"It does, Nehi. The world's chock-full of thing that aren't there."

Nehi stopped chewing and his eyes got big. "I'm a-gonna hav-ta keep studyin' up on this here You-klid."

Sheriff Constance finished his second donut and licked his fingers. Mrs. Fitzsimmons watched with thinly veiled avidity. Constance spoke. "Have you heard anything more about Miss Reynolds from the schoolkids, Chuck?"

"No, sir, nothing. I talked with Monica Stutts about Miss Reynolds' putative visit to the railroad camp, and although I believe Monica that Miss Reynolds was there, it remains a puzzle why she was there."

"Yes, it does," Constance growled - but at the situation, not at Chuck. "This things got me plumb flustered. I doan think Doc did it. Never did but I had-ta make a show of it to keep the peace. Hate that. I fear I done demoralized Doc. Sumtimes…this job. Anyway, the camp'll only be around another few weeks…"

Chuck swallowed his bite of donut and interrupted. "You mean they haven't decamped yet?"

Constance raised one eyebrow, a woolly mammoth of an eyebrow. "'Decamped'? I reckon not. They've got unused supplies to ship back, scaffoldin' around the bridge to undo, the camp itself to break down. I take it you still ain't been out there?"

"No, I keep intending to go but just haven't gotten away yet. I was able to talk to Monica at school."

"Well, on Saturday, I want you and Nehi to go out. Maybe some fresh eyes and a new face'll shake something loose. Miss Reynolds wasn't out there as no tourist, that I'm shure of."

"I will ride out on Saturday, Sheriff. With Nehi."

Chuck glanced at Nehi and Nehi nodded, his cheeks stuffed full of donuts and holes, powdered sugar on his shirt and his eyes slightly squirrely.

* * *

Chuck swept Molly up into his arms and kissed her cheek. She kissed his and then hugged his neck. Ellie and Morgan made their way to him. Carina, Zondra, and Anthony followed. Chuck saw Ruth Justus circle around them, her cheeks flushed, staring at Molly.

From behind him, Chuck heard a derisive chuckle. "Looks like our teacher's got some explaining to do."

Chuck turned, Molly in his arms. Daniel Shaw was standing there, holding Sarah's hand. Shaw was smiling. Sarah was staring at Molly, Molly in Chuck's arms.

"How about someone doing some introductions?" Ellie was looking at everyone.

Before anyone could quite recover, Shaw's smile smirked: "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the teacher-tree, eh? I guess Mr. Bartowski's been shirking, running from his obligations."

As far as Chuck knew, Daniel had never seen Molly. Molly did not seem to recognize him. Ellie stepped to Chuck and took Molly from him. Chuck tried not to look again at Sarah. He could feel her looking at him when Daniel was not looking at her.

Anthony Rizzo stepped to Ellie and reached out, pulling gently on her arm, looking up at her and Molly.

"Hi! I'm Anthony," the boy said to Molly. "Wanna see my marbles?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, soft leather pouch. Molly smiled and shook her head. Ellie put her down and Chuck admired the little girl. Her dark hair was pulled back into ponytails, each tied with a red ribbon. She had on a pink dress and pink socks, black shoes. Anthony led her a few steps over to the boardwalk and they sat down together. He opened the pouch and started taking out marbles. Molly examined each carefully as he handed it to her.

"Um, hey, everyone. That's," - he pointed to the little girl - "Molly. My sister, " he indicated Ellie, standing in her short green cloak and hat, "Ellie and I take care of her. Ellie Bartowski, everyone." Ellie curtsied. Chuck saw Sarah look at her with a different kind of interest. "And this is my good friend, Morgan Grimes." Morgan saluted, taking off the straw hat he had on above his dark blue suit.

"You sure his name isn't Jenks?" Zondra asked.

Morgan looked at Chuck for help.

"No, he's not a Jenks, not by blood."

Chuck introduced Zondra, Carina, Sarah, and Daniel. Daniel stared Ellie up and down, still smiling.

"Mr. Bartowski did not mention it," Daniel commented, "but Sarah here is my fianceé. We're getting married at the end of the month." He pulled Sarah against him, squeezing her, and glancing toward Chuck. Chuck did not look at Sarah.

Ellie eyed Daniel cooly and spoke pointedly to him. "How nice for _you_."

Carina giggled, as did Zondra. Daniel glanced at them, scowling. Chuck looked at Sarah, her blue eyes touching his brown ones for a split second.

Chuck faced his sister. "What are you doing here?"

"A bit of a story, Chuck. I'll explain later. Everything's okay. We just missed you so much and when we got a chance…"

Chuck grabbed her and hugged her, laughing. "I am so glad to see you, Ellie! So glad!" She hugged him back, crying a little. Carina and Zondra walked over to the kids, and Zondra had Anthony put his marbles away. But he left a big, green and white one as a gift for Molly. She held it proudly in her hand. The women and the boy left, heading to The Bar None.

Most of the crowd had dispersed. Daniel was still squeezing Sarah against him, and he watched as Molly walked back over and took Morgan's hand. "Ah, reunions. _More_ loved ones, always a joy. But also more people to worry about." He took Sarah's hand and pulled her along with him. She did not resist; she followed him away. Chuck watched their backs as they left.

"What did that mean?" Ellie said, stepping out of her long hug with Chuck and wiping her eyes.

Chuck shrugged. "Don't pay any attention to him."

"Is that blonde woman, Sarah, really his fiancee?"

Chuck half-choked but managed to say yes.

"Poor woman. I think she's entering chattel slavery, not matrimony."

"Chuck!" A new voice. It was from Devon.

"Hey, Devon, look, a big surprise for me on the train! This is my sister, Ellie, this is my friend, Morgan, and this is Molly."

Devon stood frozen for a second, gazing at Ellie. She blushed. But then he moved to shake Morgan's hand. He gave Ellie a formal bow. "Doctor Devon Woodcomb. Very nice to meet you. Your brother has become a good friend. I trust we will become friends too."

Ellie was flustered for a second. "Um, yes, I trust that too, I mean, that we will become...friends."

"Can I help with your luggage? Do you have a place to stay?"

Ellie turned back toward the depot. A small pile of luggage was standing there. "Yes, that's ours. But we don't have a place to stay."

"You and Molly can stay with me," Chuck volunteered. "My landlady, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, has an empty room. I suspect Morgan can get a room at The Bar None. The women who were here," Chuck glanced at Morgan, who nodded, "work there. Just ask for Carina, you met her, and I'm sure that they can find something."

Morgan followed Devon toward the luggage. Chuck took Molly's hand and walked alongside Ellie behind the two men. Daniel and Sarah were no longer in sight.

"That...Daniel...a friend of yours?"

"Hardly," Chuck huffed, then added. "No, not at all."

"But the blonde, Sarah, she's a friend of yours?"

Chuck shrugged. "It's complicated."

Ellie shrugged back at him. "Maybe. But what I saw in her eyes when neither you nor Daniel was looking at her suggests she's with the wrong man. That woman has eyes for you, Chuck Bartowski. And you for her. - Why do I worry you've landed yourself in another fix, brother of mine?" Her tone was joking but there was the undertone of the woman who, in effect, raised him.

Chuck did not answer. "Ellie, did you send a letter supporting my application to be the teacher here?"

Ellie blushed and looked away.

Why?" Chuck asked. "You didn't want me to come out here."

"I didn't. There seemed to be something...dark...driving you. And I did too; I couldn't be selfish. You needed something, Chuck; you have for years. You've been looking for it since Mom's funeral. I guess I was hoping you would find it here, instead of...darkness. And I wonder if you have already found it, _her_, even if she seems to belong to someone else?"

Chuck remained silent.

Together, the group gathered up the luggage and went to find places to stay.

Chuck was overjoyed to have Ellie, Molly, and Morgan there, he could hardly believe it; but he felt Shaw's threat, a cold hand squeezing his nape-nerve. The new arrivals increased his vulnerability.

He had to stay away from Sarah; so many people could be hurt.

The _ante_ just went up - and Chuck was no card player. If anything, he was worse at that than he expected to be at a gunfight.

More to chew on.

Chew, chew.

* * *

A/N2: Some backstories from Boston next time. Ellie and Sarah have their first conversation. Chuck and Nehi head to the railroad camp. Morgan meets Anna Wu.


	12. Correspondences, Visions

A/N1: In my Chapter Eleven preview of coming attractions, I underestimated how much would be involved in the Boston backstory. So, Chuck and Nehi's journey to the railroad camp will not occur until Chapter 13. Some crucial backstory now - I've been setting this up since Chapter One.

Take a breath, it's a little complicated. But some things that have puzzled you should now come into focus. More has been going on than meets the eye.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE:

_Correspondences, Visions_

* * *

Thursday, October 1, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

_In our doctrine of...Correspondences, we shall treat of both these symbolical and typical resemblances, and of the astonishing things which occur, I will not say, in the living body only, but throughout nature, and which correspond so entirely to supreme and spiritual things, that one would swear that the physical world was purely symbolical of the spiritual world... _

\- Emanuel Swedenborg, _Animal Kingdom_

* * *

_One would say, that, as soon as men had the first hint that every sensible object,—animal, rock, river, air,—nay, space and time, subsists not for itself, nor finally to a material end, but as a picture-language, to tell another story of beings and duties, other science would be put by, and a science of such grand presage would absorb all faculties; that each man would ask of all objects, what they mean: Why does the horizon hold me fast, with my joy and grief, in this center? Why hear I the same sense from countless differing voices, and read one never quite expressed fact in endless picture-language? _

-Emerson, _Swedenborg; or, the Mystic_

* * *

Chuck sat in the armchair in his room.

He could hear Mrs. Fitzsimmons chatting away busily to Ellie and Molly, preparing their room.

As Chuck anticipated, his landlady was overjoyed, not just to have someone to let the empty room, but to have Chuck's sister and...Molly. It was clear Mrs. Fitzsimmons was not entirely sure what to make of the little girl, who she belonged to or how, but she seemed reconciled to waiting for an answer. Molly was excited and was chatting away with Mrs. Fitzsimmons, talking about her long train trip and all the things she had seen.

Chuck leaned forward in the chair, his forearms on his thighs. He realized that he had carried Boston with him to Idaho Falls - and so it was not that surprising that even more of Boston followed. His sister, Morgan, Molly.

Jill.

It had all started in the smallest way. Chuck was in a park, reading. He was ahead in his studies, the spring day was fresh and green, and so he had taken a book to a park, planning to eat his lunch and to while away an hour or so in pleasure reading.

The book was George MacDonald's _Phantastes. _It was one of Chuck favorite books and had been since his father read it to him as a boy. He had read it many times since, always discovering new wonders in it. A book, not for children, MacDonald said, but for _the child-like_.

Chuck had an apple and a piece of cheese and a few pieces of bread on a napkin on his lap.

Chuck was reading the first sentences when he looked up and saw a small girl, probably five-years old or so, staring at him, at his book, and at his meager lunch.

It was unclear which interested her most. Chuck smiled at her.

"Hello, young lady." He looked around but saw no parent, no other person at all in the small park. "Are you lost?"

The girl shook her head and her dark hair swung from side to side. It was clean, as was the greying frock she wore.

"Are you here with someone?"

Another shake of her head - and her eyes were on his food.

"Are you hungry."

This time, a nod. Decisive.

Chuck took his pen knife from his pocket and cut the cheese in half. He closed his book and moved one half the cheese onto its cover, along with half the bread. Then he cut the apple in two and put one half on the cover with the cheese and bread.

Chuck patted the empty half of the bench he was on. The little girl climbed up and sat down, adjusting her grey frock carefully, as if she were a queen about to dine. Chuck suppressed a smile and moved his napkin into the little girl's lap.

"Not exactly a loaves and fishes miracle, little Miss, but still, we can make my little go far." The girl looked at him, unsure of his meaning but sure of his intent. She smiled hugely. Then she picked up her half of the apple and bit into it with appetite.

Chuck sat the MacDonald on his lap and ate his half of lunch. In a few minutes, both had finished. The little girl smiled again and wiped her face with the napkin. "My name's Molly. What's yours?"

"Chuck."

She laughed. "That's a funny name."

"What are you doing alone in the park, Molly?"

Molly's eyes became guarded. "I have to come and stay here in the afternoons. My mom is working - and I can't be underfoot."

"Oh, so she knows where you are?"

Molly nodded. "She will be here to get me soon. But I was really hungry, Mister Chuck. Thank you."

"My pleasure. I was hungry too, and having such a pretty and delightful companion made my meal seem grand."

Again, the little girl understood the intent if not the meaning. She beamed.

"What you reading?"

"It's a beautiful book, a book about fairies. Would you like me to read to you until your mother comes?"

She nodded and scooted a little closer to him on the bench.

Chuck opened the book.

He read: _I awoke one morning with the usual perplexity of mind that accompanies the return of consciousness._

He wasn't sure that Molly would understand it all, but he knew he hadn't when his father read it to him - and that had made the book seem all the more, not all the less, magical. He read on.

Molly closed her eyes and listened closely.

Chuck had gotten through most of the first chapter when a woman spoke. "Molly, are you troubling this gentleman?"

Molly's eyes opened. Chuck closed the book.

Standing in front of them was a small, dark-haired woman. She was pretty, with small, even features; her hair was long and straight. She wore gold glasses with round lenses. Her clothes were neat but worn, often repaired, the colors were faded.

"No, ma'am, she has been no trouble. I shared my lunch and my book with her. A feast of food and a feast of words. She's been a fine companion. A _bonny_ companion, as the author of this book might say."

He held it out to the woman. Uncertain, she took it from him and glanced at it. She opened it and read for a moment. She returned it to Chuck.

"That was kind of you, sir."

"His name is Chuck, Momma."

"That was kind of you, Chuck," the woman said, a smile playing about her face. "Now, come, Molly, we need to get home. I'm done, and we should start dinner."

The two walked away. Molly looked back and waved before they turned the corner and were out of view. Chuck waved back.

That scene replayed itself several times over the next few weeks.

Chuck and Molly had gotten fairly deep into _Phantastes_, and Molly had become more talkative, more inquisitive, asking about words she did not understand or about scenes that confused her. Chuck took his time with his answers, enjoying her questions and finding himself encouraged by how often his answers seemed to help her, satisfy her.

Sometimes he would bring an orange or a pear instead of an apple - but there was always bread and cheese and MacDonald.

Molly's mother eventually shared her name: _Jill Roberts_. There was no mention of Molly's father, by Molly or her mother. After several times finding Molly with Chuck, Jill sat down and joined them, asking Chuck to go on reading while she held Molly in her lap.

That happened several times before Jill, hesitantly, invited Chuck to have dinner with them.

* * *

This had all been happening at a time when Chuck was growing dissatisfied with Divinity School. He felt that, despite the best intentions of many of his teachers, Christianity, indeed religion itself, had become a mere theory to him, words, empty of human significance, reduced to markers in debating contests.

He had long been devoted to the book of _James _\- and its demand that faith be lived was on his mind constantly: _But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves_.

Chuck was not entirely sure what he believed, not exactly, but he knew that he wanted to do good to others, not just talk about it and be talked to about it. Helping others did not have to wait on his studies or on the solution of his theological perplexities. He feared to be the man James spoke of, the man who sees his face in a glass - beholds his own deformity - and who then goes on, forgetting what he saw.

As a result, Chuck had started to spend time in the poorest of Boston neighborhoods. He had little money to help, but he was strong and fit. He helped as he could. Sometimes it was manual labor, sometimes it was teaching a person to read.

That was how he discovered the little park. It was an out-of-the-way green bridge between 'respectable' and 'disrespectable' areas of the city.

His work was beginning to compromise his studies. As the tension between helping and Harvard grew, Chuck increasingly chose to help, chose against Harvard.

By the time Jill invited him to dinner, he had more or less decided to abandon his studies.

* * *

It took him a few dinners with Jill and Molly to finally put it all together.

Jill was a prostitute. He figured it out but then she confessed it all to him one evening when Chuck stayed later than usual, and Molly had gone to bed. Since Jill had Molly, she saw customers during the afternoons, not at night.

For a while, she had Molly in a day school, but the price went up beyond what Jill could pay. The current system of using the park - and then of using Chuck - to watch Molly could not last, and Jill knew it. She expected her confession to be the end of Chuck's involvement in her and her daughter's life.

It wasn't. Chuck kept coming to the park and he began to work with Jill in the evenings, helping her finish the schooling she had missed, schooling that might translate into other employment.

Jill wanted out of the life she was in; she wanted Molly far from it.

Chuck never explained all of this to Ellie. She worried about him enough. He talked about the woman and the little girl, but only in general terms, and not often. Ellie regarded them as just another of Chuck's charity cases.

But they had become more. Almost a family. Chuck came to hold a place in Molly's affections, almost a father's place. And he slowly realized he was coming to hold a place in Jill's, almost a husband's place. Jill told Chuck early on, after her confession, that she had no idea who among her past customers was Molly's father. She had told the little girl that her father had to move away and that had, since Molly had never known him, placated her. Chuck's appearance seemed to help with that too.

Chuck finally stopped going to classes altogether. He worked at any job he could find, dividing his pay between Ellie and Jill. Jill was able to stop seeing as many customers. Eventually, she found a job as a type-setter at a Boston magazine, and she was able to quit her customers altogether. All except one. A new customer who refused to allow Jill to send him on to someone else. They met at a hidden location, not at Jill's.

Jill would not tell Chuck who he was, but when she showed up after meeting him badly bruised, Chuck followed her the next time.

Her customer was Daniel Shaw.

It had taken effort to figure it out. Daniel demanded that Jill see him in a seedy hotel. She came in the back door and went right up to the room. Daniel was there ahead of her and left afterward. They were never seen together. He paid for the room by post, the key mailed to him, and under an alias. He had done a masterful job of hiding what he was doing. It turned out to be important that he do so, because he was, at the same time, spending the rest of his time with the first families of Boston, money, and power. The south slope of Beacon Hill. Daniel was supposed to be in Boston studying, but he was doing very little of that.

Chuck tried to get Jill to let him confront Daniel, but she refused. She was terrified of him.

He knew where she and Molly lived. _And_, Jill would say, _he will leave soon_. But Shaw had not left and eventually Chuck had convinced Jill to break it off. She had gotten the apothecary job, and it was going to change everything for her and for Molly. She wrote to Daniel to tell him that she was done. Chuck found her beaten to death in her apartment the next day. Somehow, there had been no witnesses. No one had seen or heard anything.

Chuck took his suspicions to a man on the Boston police force he knew. The man did some discreet checking. Shaw could not have done it, the man claimed. Shaw had been at a Beacon Hill party the entire afternoon. Many had seen him there. The fact that he left town just a few days after Jill's death did not make Chuck's friend suspicious. The policeman was not about to challenge the sort of people who claimed Shaw was with them.

But Chuck knew it was Shaw. Knew it. He had seen it when he last saw Shaw, after Jill was dead and before Shaw left town. Shaw had been walking along a Boston street and Chuck, looking at him, saw him, the demon that he was.

* * *

Ever since Chuck had fever as a boy, he had been having visions.

He told no one about them. They were not prophetic - they did not foretell the future. But they were glimpses, glimpses into the inward meaning of outward and visible things, penetration beyond the physical and into the metaphysical. They happened irregularly and could not be predicted. Sometimes what they revealed was good, angelic, not demonic. He could not always tell if he was having one and if it was merely his imagination, the result of being addled or agitated by stress or worry or sickness.

He had one of the visions, he was sure, when he saw the Numbers Gang, and another, he thought, when he saw Justus' dark choir outside Devon's office. They visions came and went on their own schedule.

He had one in Boston when he looked at Shaw and knew Shaw for what he was. _Evil_. Still, visions weren't evidence - no court would take them into consideration. He'd end up in The Boston Lunatic Asylum. But he could not forget what he saw; he could not shake it; he could not forgive Shaw. Oblivious to almost everything else, he tried to find a way to follow Shaw west.

* * *

It was the visions that lead Chuck to Swedenborg - and to _Heaven and Hell. _

Or it was the visions and the help of Emerson's essay on Swedenborg.

Chuck was not sure that Swedenborg's mystical visions of correspondence quite explained his own visions, but it was similar. It made them make sense to him. Chuck could see the correspondences between earth and Heaven, between earth and Hell. Earth as Heaven _and_ Hell. Sometimes - Chuck could see the correspondences. Sometimes.

Yes, it had started after his fever but no one knew.

Ellie noticed the signs of it. She called it 'staring off into space' and she teased him about 'fits of abstraction'. But he never told her what he saw or how he understood it. All these years it had been his secret and his alone. No one knew. He was not sure he would ever tell anyone. He hadn't ever told Morgan, even.

Swedenborg made him feel less alone.

* * *

Chuck had chased Shaw to Idaho Falls on the strength of a vision. It was a vision he took to prove Shaw had killed Jill. But it was proof only to Chuck. Other than that, he had only circumstantial evidence, and precious little of it.

* * *

"Chuck?"

He sat up. Ellie was standing in his doorway. She looked refreshed. She had on a different dress.

"Yes?"

"Molly's already asleep on the cot. She's had a big day. She wouldn't let me take her marble. She says she needs a leather pouch like the boy…" She was trying to remember the boy's name.

"Anthony," Chuck offered.

"Like Anthony has. And more marbles. I told her you were better at losing marbles than finding them, but that you might rustle some up for her." She smirked. "How'd you like that, 'rustle up'? I'm speaking the lingo already."

Chuck shook his head, smiling at his sister, taken aback, as always by her brains and her beauty. "So, Ellie, how are you here?"

"I sold the house."

"You _what_?"

"There was a man. He came by a couple of days after you left. I guess there are plans to build a hospital - right there, where our house and some of the neighbors' houses are.

"I thought it was a scam, or that they would offer us some piddling amount. But no, _top dollar._ We have money now, Chuck; half of it is yours. It's to be transferred to the bank here.

"We needed - I needed - to let go of the house. Too many memories. Thank God we had it, but I hope you won't be angry with me."

Chuck shook his head. "I left it. No, I'm not angry. Sad, as I know you are, but...it was time."

Relief showed on his sister's face. "I plan to take my half and buy a small house, see if I can find some work. It's beautiful here - and I've had enough of dirt and smoke and crowds. Is Lou's a decent place?"

"Yes, it is. But you might want to talk to the Mayor's wife, Diane Beckman. She has a finger in every pie in Idaho Falls. She can tell you who might hire you."

"So what's been going on with you here, Chuck? Tell me. Tell me about Sarah."

Ellie walked into the room and sat down on the bed. Chuck started at the beginning, with the hold-up, and, except for the visions and his real reason for coming to Idaho Falls, his dark knowledge of Shaw, he told Ellie about the past month. It started with Sarah.

It ended with Sarah. Carina, Casey, the townsfolk, and the murder of Miss Reynolds, were in sandwiched in the middle.

When he finished, Ellie was chewing on her bottom lip. "Well, you have always had a genius for getting yourself into predicaments, Chuck. So, you believe Sarah is the blonde rider?"

Chuck stood up and retrieved the black hat hanging in his closet. He put it in Ellie's hands and pointed out the long blonde hairs in it. "When she came to see me, I could only see her face and hair - at first. That's because she was dressed in black."

"So she rides around in black part of the time, and gets drug through town by that clown Shaw the rest of the time? Are you sure this is the woman you want, Chuck?"

He colored. "Yes, Ellie, I am. But I can't have her. I've looked at it every way I can, from under and above; I can't see how to get her out of this." _Unless I can kill Shaw. _

Ellie sighed. "At least we have some time. You're not alone. I'm here now. Morgan's here. We'll figure this out. Though I admit, it sounds more like you need an army than a sister, a little girl, and a Morgan."

"I'm glad for what I have. I'm glad you're here. And, who knows? Maybe we can hope for some divine intervention…"

Ellie grinned. "That's your department, Harvard. Though I'm unsure about the effectiveness of prayer from a Divinity School dropout." She laughed, then yawned. "I'm beat; I'm going to bed."

Ellie stood up. She leaned down and kissed the top of Chuck's head. "Keep the faith, Chuck. Remember, David slew Goliath."

She left. Chuck shut his door behind her.

_Yes, but David at least knew how to use a slingshot._

That thought made Chuck restless, so he grabbed his cowboy hat and headed out of the house. He went to The Bar None. Chuck had expected Morgan to come to Mrs. Fitzsimmons' after he got his room at The Bar None.

Chuck stepped through the swinging doors. The saloon was not in weekend form, despite the special event of the train's arrival. It wasn't close to empty but it was not full. Chuck saw Morgan sitting at the bar. He was talking to Zondra Rizzo. She seemed to be comforting him.

"Hey, Morgan. What happened? I thought you'd come to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and spend some time?"

Morgan looked at Chuck. "Hey, Chuck, I intended to but things took a turn here…"

Behind Morgan, Zondra smiled, shaking her head. "Tell him, Morgan."

"Well, Chuck, you didn't mention that the upstairs rooms are divided into..._working rooms_ and renting rooms…"

It was true: Chuck hadn't thought to mention it.

Morgan went on. "So, I came in and went right up the stairs, thinking I would take a look, see what the rooms were like. I opened the door…" He paused.

"And he saw...the business end of Anna Wu, in the midst of business...," Zondra explained, pushing down the corners of her mouth, fighting a smile.

Morgan turned bright red. "Um, yeah, what she said. I wasn't prepared for it, Chuck, it shook me up. Luckily, Miss Rizzo here found me a Sasparilla - or three. My nerves are steadier now." He took another swig of the fizzy, golden liquid.

"I'm sorry, little buddy. I should have told you. Warned you. Do you think you will ever fully recover?"

Morgan made an earnest, thoughtful face. "Don't know. It was sort of like a vision. There's a lot to see...out... in the West."

Chuck flinched but hid it. "That there is, Morgan, that there is."

Outside, it started to rain.

* * *

A/N2: Railroad camp visit in Chapter 13.

Thoughts? Drop ma a line.


	13. Mud

A/N1: Discoveries made, the predicament assessed. And a letter.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

_Mud_

* * *

Saturday, October 3, 1885  
Railroad Encampment near Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck swung down off Jenny just as Nehi did off his horse. They tied them both to a hitching post and stood, ankle-deep in mud.

Chuck recalled Napoleon: "The fifth element - _mud_."

It started raining on Thursday night as Chuck drank coffee and Morgan drank Sarsaparilla. It intensified during the night and drummed down all day on Friday, sometimes falling in such superabundance on the schoolhouse roof that the students and he could barely suss out what was being said.

Slowly, everything had melted - mud, muddy, muddier.

Mud.

It stopped sometime during the night on Friday, slowed, and stopped, but the mud remained, brown, gluey and thick. The mud made the ride to the railroad camp a sullen Saturday morning slog instead of a bracing trot amid Fall colors. The rain had not only wet everything, it had ushered in cooler Fall air. Chuck was glad to have on his jacket - a bargain at Patel's, or so Lester insisted.

Idaho's early autumnal beauty was too damp and cold to be gazingstock. Everything seemed to have huddled into itself against the rain and cold and nothing had, as yet, opened up, despite the Saturday morning sun. Jenny seemed to find the sinking ground beneath her hooves dispiriting. She plodded along, her head half-hanging. Nehi, however, seemed to be unfazed by the water or cool air. He chirped and sang, regaling Chuck with tales of his own derring-do back in his salad days. Chuck had been amused, and even Jenny, perhaps picking up on Chuck's lightening mood, picked up her pace, picked up her feet.

But now: _Mud_.

The camp's short main road ran between many small tents, a couple of rough log buildings and culminated large tent, sideless, underneath which were many makeshift tables. Men - and a few women - squatted here and there before the small tents, fanning smoky fires, trying to cook breakfast. The smell of breakfast meats blended with the pungent odor of sewage. Chuck could see a small stream down a short bank on the left side of the camp, and the stream's water looked - unclear. The stink of sewage rose from it.

Some people looked up as Chuck and Nehi trudged past with sucking steps, but few seemed interested in the tall, lanky man and his short, bow-legged companion. A couple of people recognized Nehi and waved - that was all the greeting they got.

They stopped in front of one of the wooden buildings. A small sign by the door read: _Oregon Short Line Railroad Camp - Main Office. _Nehi kicked his boots against the side of the door, knocking clumps of mud off them, then stepped inside. Chuck did the same.

Inside, the scene was different.

The walls had been whitewashed. The long table that dominated the room had been carefully crafted and finished. The three desks matched it. Large maps were hung on the walls. A vase of Idaho fall flowers graced the central table and the smell of coffee rose from a pot on top of a small, pot bellied stove. The room was warm but not hot. It seemed emblematic of efficiency and order, like a railroad-approved pocket watch, tick, tock.

Men sat at each of the desks. A small woman, young and bespectacled, was organizing papers at the central desk. One of the men stood.

"Nehi, good to see you! What brings you out to Muckville?"

Nehi grinned. "It's shure 'nuf muddy, I'll say. Much more 'n you folks'd sunk like ya's in quicksand. Nuttin' left-a ya but yer hats a-sailin' on the muck."

"True, true. Hello," the man said to Chuck, extending his hand and looking up at Chuck, "I don't think we've met. I'm Thad Howell. I run the camp and work for OSL."

Chuck took the man's hand. For a split second, Chuck saw the man's smile transform into something demon-like, flame-lit, and then it passed. Chuck shook his head as he finished shaking the man's hand. "I'm Chuck Bartowski. I teach school in Idaho Falls."

Howell nodded. "Ah, the substitute for poor Miss Reynolds. Is it her supposed visit here that brings you two out into the mud?"

"Shure 'tis," Nehi answered, a hint of complaint in his voice. "Lou's got extry-good bis'cuts 'n gravy on Sat'day but they wer'n't done when we left."

"How _is_ Lou? It's been a while since I have been able to come to town. I imagine she's gotten...testy?"

"She's missin' ya, no doubt. She was a-hissin' at yesterday's rain like'n she's a snake. Ya better visit an' charm 'er soon, Thad."

"I will," Howell said. Just as he finished speaking, the door to the office banged open. A man, covered in mud, stood outside, dripping, panic beneath the muddy water on his face.

"Mr. Howell! Mr. Howell! They was working down on the hillside, takin' down the scaffold, and Billy Jones was larkin', runnin' along atop the hill. He fell and tumbled down. He's at the bottom an' his leg's all messed up. Done broke it."

Howell's pleasant, professional smile disappeared. A frown took its place. "He shouldn't have been running up there." Howell's response was oddly brief, unconcerned.

And then Chuck knew. A moment before, a vision: he was looking at Number One, the leader of the Number Gang. His speech was more polished than it had been during the hold-up, but the voice was the same. Cold. Commanding.

The office burst into commotion and motion.

Howell told the muddy man what to do. They left together, the man following Howell. Howell turned around and spoke to Chuck and Nehi through the open door. "We may need you two to take Billy to Dr. Woodcomb. Can you do that?"

Chuck nodded, Nehi said yes. The men left.

"Should we go help?" Chuck asked Nehi.

"Nope, they'll know what to do. It'll take 'em a while ta splint the man an' git him up 'ere. We'd jes be in 'er way. So, was they sumpin' you needed ta see in partic'lar? I says we got some time a-fore we hav-ta go."

"No, I just wanted to look around. Maybe talk to a few folks." Chuck had a hunch. "Who here helps folks that are sick? It's a ride to town. Surely, someone out here does some basic medicine, remedies, that sort of thing?"

Nehi nodded. "That'd be Shotgun Gert. She ain't no reg'lar railroader, but she's sorta a camp follower, an' she does elixirs 'n potions an' whatnot."

"Where can we find...Shotgun Gert?"

"She's gotta shack outta camp, but near."

They went back out into the mud.

Chuck could hear Howell barking orders off in the distance. He got goosebumps. He was sure, sure Howell was Number One. But all he had to offer as proof was...a momentary vision, one of a piece with the vision he had when the hold-up was happening. A familiar vocal tone.

"Say, ya doin' alrigh', Dee-vine. Ya's lookin' a li'l greener 'n usual.."

"I'll be fine." As they walked along, heading past the large tent and away from camp, Chuck glanced at Nehi. "Howell seems like a top executive, a man of decision. What's he doing out here in the muck?"

"I wond'erd that meeself, Chuck. He's a polished knob, that's shure. Doan belong on no cabin door. Lou - he's her beau, but I'ma guessin' yer figer'd that by now - she tol' me once Howell got inna sum kinda argument with the OSL owner, and they'd hadda fallin' out. The endin' was Howell a-here 'n the boonies. But that's all she evver tol' me."

Chuck nodded, thinking. "I see he doesn't wear a gun."

"Nope. Nevver see'd him w' one."

"Is he always in camp?"

"Nope, not allways. Now 'n then he's gotta travel, sumtimes way back to Cody. You seem powerful inner'rested in 'im, Dee-vine. Any partic'lar reeson?"

"No," Chuck sighed, "just curious."

"Ya shure got-a powerful strange look on yer face when ya was lookin' at Howells inna office, Dee-vine. Like you'd done see'd a ghost."

Chuck said nothing to that.

They came into a small clearing. A makeshift hut stood in it, made out of odds and ends. Chuck looked at Nehi. "I think it might be best if I could talk to Gert on my own, Nehi. I have an idea and I don't know if it will work with you standing there, wearing that star on your chest."

Nehi narrowed his eyes. "But Gert, she's a live 'un, Dee-vine. She's as lik'ly to kill ya as talk ta ya."

"I'll take my chances. Give me ten minutes? Check on Billy; I'll be along presently."

Nehi made a show of pulling out his watch and checking it. "Alrigh', ten minutes an' no more."

Chuck watched Nehi head back to camp, then Chuck walked to the shack.

As he got closer, he realized that there were small animals, in various states of preservation, nailed to the shack. Lizards, birds, furry creatures of various sizes and sorts. The shack was pockmarked with death. He forced himself to stand before the ill-fitting door and knock.

No answer. He knocked again.

"Who the hell is it, mucking with me on this mudslide of a morning?" The voice was unpleasant, angry. Chuck heard loud sounds from inside, and more cursing, then the door opened. It was obvious why she was _Shotgun _Gert. In her forties, with jet black hair, she had a sawed-off shotgun in her hands, pointed at Chuck's chest, its double barrels a dark, cold stare.

Gert herself was otherwise absolutely naked.

And it was chilly.

Chuck spun around and raised his hands as he did, so that he was facing away from Gert, his hands in the air.

He heard a chuckle behind him. "Now, aren't you right respectful. Of course, it may be that you've simply never seen a pair of breasts quite this magnificent, and that you spun simply to preserve your vision, afraid the Lord would demand it of you after allowing you see to my glory, sorta like Moses when he saw God's butt."

"_Back parts_," Chuck offered. "At least, that the Authorized Version."

"_I know that, Mister_ \- but that's effete parlor talk. What it means is _butt_, right?"

Chuck shrugged. "I suppose that is what it means."

"Do you think God has a butt, Mister? The Old Testament gives him all sorts of parts - arms and hands and eyes and...back parts. I would have thought you couldn't rightly tell if God was coming or going, you know, but if he has eyes and back parts, maybe you could."

Chuck shrugged again. "God moves in mysterious ways."

There was a long silence, then the chuckle Chuck heard returned, more hearty this time. "Say, that's funny, Mister. Not many folks around here up for serious theological discussion."

Chuck laughed. "Is that what this is?"

"Close enough for a skinny stranger and a naked woman."

Chuck continued laughing. "I guess so. I would like to talk to you for a minute, Miss Gert. Do you think you could put something on along with the shotgun?"

"I suppose. I was going to walk to the creek for my weekly ablution just when you showed up. Luckily, I'm upstream from the camp."

Chuck thought about the sewage odor. "Yes, that's lucky."

"Hang on."

There was more noise from the shack then Gert spoke. "Okay, you can turn around. I put on something to match my gun."

Chuck did. Gert was still holding her shotgun, but she had put on an old faded duster, long and stained, and it was wrapped around her, one arm holding its front closed. As far as Chuck could tell, she was otherwise still naked.

"So, what do you want, Mister."

"My name is Chuck. I'm the new school teacher. I wanted to ask you about my predecessor, Miss Reynolds. Did you know her?"

"I talked to Constance about this already. I told him I knew her in the sense that I knew what she looked like, knew her name, but we never traded words."

Chuck gave Gert a dubious look. "I doubt that. Do you have any remedies here for pregnancy?"

Gert colored. "What do you mean? Why would anyone need a _remedy_ for that? I have potions that'll help a woman get pregnant. Help a man to...stand to order."

Chuck thought about his time in Boston, what he had learned working in the poor parts of town. "But you don't have any that might promise to _end _a pregnancy?"

"No, I don't have any such thing."

"Look, I am not here to cause you trouble. Miss Gert. I'm just trying to understand Miss Reynolds, what she was thinking around the time she was murdered."

"But then why are you asking me about pregnancy?" Gert stepped forward, aiming the shotgun at Chuck deliberately.

Chuck stood his ground. "Because Miss Reynolds was pregnant. I'm guessing she came to you, hoping you could help…"

Gert stared at Chuck for a few seconds, her eyes dark above the dark barrels of the shotgun. "You know?"

"Yes, Graham, the undertaker, figured it out. I'm just...curious. You don't have to tell me what you said or what you gave her, if anything. Just tell me this: Did she come here looking for such a remedy?"

Gert lowered the barrels. "Yes, she did. She asked. I don't know that she _wanted_ such a thing, or believed it would really work, but she came to ask. She did ask. Considering her options, I gather."

"And no one saw?"

"No, because she found me down at the creek, bathing, not up here. No one was around. She asked me about it there. - But I don't think she really wanted it. I think she wanted to have the baby. And there ain't any such...remedy. She was just...afraid."

"Of what, Gert? Who?"

She shrugged and her duster fell open. Chuck shut his eyes and she laughed again.

But when she spoke she was serious again. "I don't know, but my guess is that she was afraid of the father. And before you ask, I have no idea who that was. She didn't say."

"Alright. Am I the only one you've told this too?"

"You were the only one smart enough to ask. And you can open your eyes; I buttoned my coat. No reason to send you back to the Children of Israel with your face all aglow."

"Thanks, Gert. Kind of you."

She smiled. "Always good to be reminded there are men out there who aren't jackasses. Now, turn, and leave. I'll enjoy watching your back parts as you go."

* * *

Sarah walked along the street hoping to see Chuck and praying she didn't.

After the train's arrival, seeing him with his sister and with the little girl had rattled Sarah, and it had taken all her concentration to hide that fact from Daniel.

But Sarah was bursting with curiosity about Elie, the woman who wrote the letter about Chuck that had so moved Sarah's imagination. She wondered about the little girl, what her story was. So far as Sarah knew, Chuck had no children and she had the impression Ellie didn't either. It was confusing.

Adding to the confusion was the tender spot in Sarah's heart that had been touched when she saw Chuck holding the little girl. A part of Sarah, hitherto unheard from, spoke softly at that scene. It made Sarah blush to think about it. A son, a daughter - but she was a fool for such idle dreaming. A fool, and cruel to herself. If she ever had a child, it would be Daniel Shaw's. The thought routed her blush and knotted her stomach. _Please, God, spare me that._

She stepped into Patel's. She was usually in a hurry there. The owner, Lester, had a habit of following her through the store and staring at her. He did, that is, unless his wife, Ami, was in the store. At those times, Sarah could not get Lester to so much as acknowledge her existence. Ami ended up helping her then.

Ami was seated behind the counter and nodded to Sarah as she entered. Sarah looked down the main aisle and saw Chuck's sister. Ellie was standing with a jar in her hands, a confused look on her face.

Sarah knew Daniel was on his ranch. Her father was at the bank. No one listened to anything that Lester said, so she took her chance.

Sarah walked down the aisle: "Hello, Ellie. It is Ellie, right? You're Chuck's sister?"

Ellie replace the jar, then gave Sarah a look that immediately suggested she knew something of Sarah's situation. "Yes, Ellie, and you are Sarah?"

Sarah nodded. Ami was engrossed in a magazine at the counter. Lester was nowhere to be seen. "How do you like our little town? Are you here for long?"

"I like it, so far," Ellie said, "and I am planning to stay on." A part of Sarah wanted to leap at the news, another wanted to weep. As Daniel's wife, Chuck's sister would not likely be any part of Sarah's life.

Ellie looked around then reached out and grabbed Sarah's arm. She pulled her behind stacked bags of flour. "Sarah, Chuck told me about...your situation. I met your...well, I met Daniel Shaw. Chuck didn't tell me much about Daniel, but I can tell from their interaction, and from Chuck's body language, that they don't like each other. But I could also see that you...like Chuck and he...likes you. He told me so later, that is, that he likes you. He _believes _you like him…"

Sarah had not expected a full-frontal assault. "Ellie, I...The situation. It's...I'm trapped. Stuck. What I feel just doesn't really matter. There are other people to think of - including Chuck, and now you, Morgan, and...the little girl."

Ellie caught Sarah's final hesitancy and shift in volume. "She's our ward, Sarah. Her mother was a...friend of Chuck's - Jill Roberts was her name - and she died. Chuck never told me the circumstances. A friend of Chuck's in the Boston police force, and a couple of his professors at Harvard, helped work it out so Molly came to us. He left her with me because...well, because things in Boston seemed more settled and I thought could best take care of her, with Morgan's help. But...I sold our house. I got an offer and I took it. I missed Chuck - so did Molly and Morgan. So, here we are. Molly and I have a room right now at Mrs. Fitzsimmons'."

"I'm glad you are here, glad for Chuck. This month - especially its end - is going to be hard for him. I hope you can help him. I won't be able…"

"Can Daniel do this, Sarah, can he really force you to marry him? Won't people - someone - stop him?"

"Most think I _want_ to marry him. There would be...consequences if I did anything to change their minds. Most admire or envy him. And, at the end of the day, I think most fear him - his father too. The Shaws may not own the town, not all of it, but they run it."

"That can't be the end of it. I have never seen my brother look at any woman as he looked at you as you walked away with Daniel the other day."

Sarah's voice hitched; a tremble ran the length of her. "Not even...Jill Roberts?"

"Sarah, I won't pretend to know the story of Chuck and Jill and Molly. I don't know what the relationship was. The little girl worships Chuck. He was wonderful with her after her mother died. But I know my brother, Sarah. He is an honorable man - down to his very core. And I know he didn't have those sorts of feelings for her. You are the only woman my brother has ever...looked at that way."

Sarah eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Ellie. This will end badly. We are both going to be miserable. And nothing can be done about it. Nothing."

The two women stood without speaking. Ellie put her hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Don't give up yet, Sarah. We won't. We Bartowski's don't quit, we don't give up; we're serious about the people we...love."

The word seemed to fill the air for a second, charging it like electricity.

"Ellie," Sarah said quietly, changing topics, "I read your letter about Chuck. That was a wonderful letter."

"Really? That must be how Chuck knew I wrote it. You told him."

Sarah nodded. "I did. I needed him to understand how I could...feel the way I do...about him."

"I meant every word." Ellie said. "Chuck is special, Sarah. Our dad used to tell him that. But he's had a hard time since dad died, mom died...since they died." Ellie paused. "Chuck told me you lost your mom." Ellie gave Sarah's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry - I know how hard that is."

"I'd like to meet Molly sometime. But I don't know when I will get the chance. Will she be going to school?"

"Yes, that's the plan. I think Chuck has another little girl about her age. We'll find a moment, Sarah. Chuck would like it if the two of you met, I'm sure."

Ellie looked down the aisle. Sarah glanced over her shoulder. Lester Patel was standing on the other end, a tally booklet out. He was taking inventory.

"Excuse me, Lester." Devon spoke, appeared in the aisle.

Lester stepped aside, looking up at the larger man as he passed.

"Hello, ladies. I thought I saw you back here. Miss Walker. Miss Bartowski."

"Doctor Woodcomb," Ellie said. Sarah nodded silently.

"Your brother and Nehi just got to town. They were out at the railroad camp. There was an accident."

Both women jerked. Devon put his hands up. "No, no, Chuck was not involved. Neither was Nehi. It was a railroad man, gamboling around to amuse his friends, slid down the hill and broke his leg. I've reset it. I was just coming to see if Lester still has any crutches. Do you Lester?" Devon asked the question while still facing Sarah and Ellie.

But Lester answered. "I do, they're in the storeroom."

"Howells says to put it on OSL's tab, Lester."

"Okay," Lester said.

"Miss Bartowski, I was wondering if you would allow me to take you to dinner tomorrow, after church."

Ellie glanced at Sarah. Sarah smiled at her and nodded slightly.

"That would be nice, Doctor Woodcomb."

Devon's face broke into a huge smile. "That's awesome, stupendous!" He caught himself. "I mean, yes, that would be nice. Very nice. Very. Indeed. Nice. Very." Devon finally made himself stop commenting. He gave the women a small bow and left the store. He came back in and took the crutches from Lester, his face bright red, not looking at Sarah or Ellie.

Despite their serious earlier conversation, the two women fell into a fit of giggles.

* * *

Sarah was sitting in the back of the wagon as her father drove it toward their ranch. He was lost in thought, the reins slack in his hands, the horses pulling steadily of their own volition.

Sarah slipped her hand into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She had made a copy of Ellie's letter for her brother and she kept it with her. She knew she was making her ache worse, but she couldn't help it. She missed him. Talking with Ellie had made it all better - and much, much worse.

_To Whom It May Concern In Idaho Falls,_

_This is irregular, I know - a letter from a sibling who has no official voice in your town's hiring decision and no authority as an educator herself from which to speak. _

_Still, I feel compelled to speak. My brother, Charles Irving Bartowski, was born to be a teacher. _

_His educational credentials are remarkable, even factoring in his decision not to finish his studies at the Divinity School. I am sure he will not explain that, but I know that he did it for honorable reasons, out of his desire to help others. Ever since he was little, he was a serious-minded boy. The world - and other people - are always very much with him. He cares. It is as simple, and as hard, as that. Few care as he does; few have the courage of what they call their convictions. Chuck feels what he believes on his pulse. He tests it all there. _

_I know (he thinks I don't) that he has spent much of his time in the last few months in the poorest sections of Boston, helping people there, working for them, with them. He schooled them, taught them to read and write, and taught them mathematics. He has done all that for free, asking nothing in return. He has shared his world-class mind with anyone who wanted it._

_And now you have a chance to have him as your teacher in Idaho Falls. I know his Harvard professors will make it clear that I am not writing out of mere sisterly pride. Having him teach your children would be a blessing for your town, an opportunity that will not present itself a second time. He wants to come. I believe he is born to teach. Perhaps he is born to teach in Idaho Falls._

_I have been the beneficiary of his gifts. He has taught me as he learned at Harvard, since I had no opportunity of the sort he did. I am not talking about his abilities as a teacher in the abstract or in anticipation; I have learned from Charles Bartowski and I know his gifts first-hand. _

_My brother is a genuinely good man. He is kind. He is thoughtful. He lives deliberately. He once remarked to me that Jesus Christ is 'Philanthropos' (I transliterate the word) - humanely kind and a lover of humankind. My brother is, too. He loves people, not just in the aggregate, but individually, as they come his way, without judgment and without condemnation. He will love your students and want the best from them and for them._

_He will not only teach your children, he will be an example to them._

_Sincerely,_

_Eleanor Bartowski_

Sarah looked up. Her father was still staring absently at the muddy road ahead of them. She folded the paper, kissed it, and replaced it, tucked her jacket more closely around her.

Ruminating on the letter's contents, she recalled her first face-to-face meeting with Chuck, the day she had gone to the cemetery. (That was why she had been able to come to town with her father today: she had put flowers on her mother's grave. Her father would likely not have let her come except for that.)

But that Saturday - was it really almost a month ago? It seemed yesterday; it seemed a lifetime ago - she had found Chuck asleep beneath the great tree. With a book.

After their graveside talk, she had gone down the hill ahead of him. Sarah saw Diane Beckman going into the schoolhouse. And, playing a hunch, Sarah had walked around the schoolhouse and stood outside one of its windows. A few minutes later, Chuck had sprinted inside.

Sarah listened to the entire conversation. She knew she shouldn't have done so, but she couldn't help herself once it started. She heard Chuck's responses to Mrs. Justus, his conversation as he left with Langston Graham.

Standing next to the window, Sarah had hugged herself in flushed delight. She was sure then, _sure_, even before the Fall festival, that Chuck was indeed the man she had been waiting for.

She hugged herself again, there in the back of the wagon, looking backward at the ruts the wagon wheels cut in the chill mud - but, despite the sunlight and her jacket, she still felt cold.

Muddy.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Please be kind and drop a line.

Tune in next time for a visit to the Shaw's cattle ranch.

Posting will likely slow now. My teaching begins in earnest again tomorrow.

\- ZG


	14. Sheep to the Slaughter

A/N1: Hey, pardner, more story!

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

_Sheep to the Slaughter_

* * *

Tuesday, October 6, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck sat in his room. It was late Tuesday evening, still early in the week although late in the day. It had been a strange week - and it was just starting.

* * *

At church on Sunday, Jack Walker had delivered a strange and an impassioned sermon about an Old Testament story, the Genesis story of Jacob's labors for Rachel, the daughter of Laban. Laban tricked Jacob into labor for seven years for Rachel, then Laban substituted Rachel's sister, Leah, for Rachel. Jacob had to labor another seven years for Rachel.

Chuck had not been able fully to understand Jack Walker's role in what was happening to Sarah. The little he had seen, and the little Sarah had told him, made him regard Jack as willing for his daughter to do what Jack had to know his daughter did not want to do.

It was unclear if that was true, or completely true - but it was the impression Chuck had. The sermon though suggested something else. It was not just the choice of text or the particular angle taken on it.

No, along with that, there were significant looks in the direction of David and Daniel Shaw. The looks were hard to read but they did not seem conciliatory, happy. Several times, speaking of Rachel, Jack glanced at his daughter, seated beside Daniel. She was staring at the floor in front of her, rigid and motionless. Daniel's face was puzzled but also red; it grew redder and redder as the sermon marched on. David's face - he was on Daniel's other side - never changed, however.

"And so," Jack said, his voice rising in pitch as well as volume, "we tell the story to ourselves from _Jacob's point of view _and we think: 'Poor Jacob, tricked and used so by Laban.' But maybe Laban had reasons for holding his daughter back, maybe he had...worries about Jacob. Maybe Laban needed seven years - and then seven more - to reconcile himself to his daughter marrying that man!"

The congregation grew fidgety, uneasy. No one seemed sure what Jack's point was, perhaps including Jack himself. He was venting, venting something he only tenuously connected to the Genesis story. When the sermon died - 'ended' is too weak a word - the congregation filed out in uncertain silence. And although Jack was standing by the doors as usual, no one seemed to have anything to say to him that was not perfunctory. Chuck shook his hand, expecting the same coolness or casual disregard that he had so far gotten from Jack.

Instead, Jack gazed into Chuck's eyes. "G' mornin', Chuck." Chuck moved past, allowing the next person to step up, but he glanced down at his hand as if he could find proof there that Jack Walker had actually called him 'Chuck'.

Chuck had wanted to talk about it all with Ellie. She had been seated beside him during the sermon and had pinched him during a couple of the more passionate and hard-to-follow moments, but Devon had been waiting for her outside (she had gone through the red doors ahead of Chuck) and they were on their way to Lou's before Chuck could say anything.

He stood outside for a minute, trying to understand the morning, when he saw Daniel helping Sarah up into his carriage. As Shaw walked around to get in, his back to Chuck, Sarah glanced at him. The glance mixed things many things: affection, sadness, but also fear.

Chuck turned back to the door and saw David Shaw shake Jack's hand. The two men did not make eye contact, although David seemed to try to catch Jack's eye. Failing, he scowled darkly as he descended the steps.

On Monday, not long after Chuck finished his day of teaching, Chuck was sitting in Mrs. Fitzsimmons' living room, eating fresh, hot cookies and drinking a glass of milk. Molly was with him; she had been to her first day of school, and the cookies and milk were Mrs. Fitzsimmons' treat for the little girl - and her teacher.

Ellie had gone after breakfast to meet with Diane Beckman - hoping to find work. Molly was dunking her cookie in her mug of milk when Nehi strode into the room. Morgan was a step behind, a younger shadow of the older man.

Nehi pushed his hat back at a tilt. He sighed as if the world had ended. Morgan, wearing a brand new brown cowboy hat himself, took his hat off.

"What's wrong, Nehi?"

Nehi glanced at Molly. Mrs. Fitzsimmons came in at that moment. She saw Nehi's look and she helped Molly gather the cookies and Molly's milk, and they moved into the kitchen.

Nehi sat down. Morgan stood, hat in hand. "They's been a tragedy," Nehi said with gravity. "Out at Walker's ranch."

Chuck jolted. "Sarah?"

Nehi shook his head even as he studied Chuck. "I done been thinkin' as much. You's been sweet onna that gurl from the get-go'." His eyes narrowed to slits. "That s'plains a lot, I-ma thinkin'...

"But, no, thank the Lord, Dee-vine," Morgan looked lost at this point, turning from Nehi to Chuck, "it weren't Miss Walker - it weren't no person. Sumbuddy drove about a hun-erd o' Walker's sheep offin' Devil's Point. They's a whole heap o' carcasses at the bottom, all blood an' wool. Like'n a bad, bad dream. Miss Walker a'standin' on the Point, a-cryin', an her father' a-cursin', an' him a preecher…"

Chuck sat forward. "Is that a lot of sheep, Nehi. I mean, I know it is, and it's awful, but I take it a hundred sheep is only a fraction of the sheep the Walker's have."

Nehi pulled at his beard, getting longer everyday. "That's true, Dee-vine. They's got hunnerds an' hunnerds o'sheep. I doan know why annybuddy wanna drive sheep offin no cliff."

"Morgan," Chuck said, "what's going on?"

Morgan shrugged. "I met Nehi Sunday night at The Bar None. I saw him ride in a few minutes ago. He looked shocked. I asked him what was going on - like you just did me - and he told me to follow him in here."

Chuck was finding the two of them so close to each other oddly disconcerting. They looked like opposite ends of one person's life. But maybe that was the effect of this strange news.

"Were there any witnesses, Nehi?"

"A couple of young shepherds. Five men, all a-wearin' black rode in an' cut out the sheep, drove 'em away, toward Devil's Point…"

"Five, Nehi? The Number Gang."

Nehi nodded. "That's what t' sheriff is a-thinkin', evverybuddy else, too."

"What do you think?"

"It doan seem like no job they's evver did. Maybe 'twas them. Ain't no countin' on evil, not even when it's the Nummer's Gang," Nehi snorted at his own joke, "an Constane ain't no fool, but I's no-ways convicted 'twas 'em."

"The number does seem significant…" Chuck said, aloud, but to himself.

"What do you mean, Chuck?" Morgan. He was now settling into the conversation.

"One hundred sheep. The Parable of the Lost Sheep. A shepherd has one hundred sheep but one is lost, so he leaves the ninety-nine to find the one…"

"Oh, right. I remember," Morgan commented. Nehi was nodding. He remembered too.

"It had to be a task, cutting out one hundred. It could be a coincidence, I suppose, but…"

"No, that's right, Dee-vine. Them shepherds said the men cut t' sheep out deliberate-like. The sheepherds didn't have no guns, and so cuddin' fight 'em off or even stall 'em. They got wurked ovver pretty bad theyselves."

Chuck sat back, tenting his fingers, thinking. Sarah said that Jack often preached of sheep. He had the first time Chuck heard him. But he hadn't preached of sheep on Sunday - unless you took his sermon refer the one sheep he was about to lose, his Rachel, Sarah. Could the mass killing of the sheep have been the Shaw's retaliation for the sermon? But how was the Numbers Gang involved? Why would Thad Howell lead his men on such an odd, cruel errand?

"Nehi, how far is it to the Shaw's ranch?"

"About as far as to the Walker's, but inna other di-rekshun. But, no, Dee-vine. I's a-seein' it in yer eyes. No, doan do 't. Nothin' good can come-a ya a-goin' out there..."

"I'm just going to go talk, Nehi. Look at the place. Fix it in my mind. Nothing else. And I have a reason. I was told today that Monica Stutts and her father have left the railroad camp. Left Saturday night. Her father has taken a position as the Shaws' new cook. The old one left. Monica'll be busy all week helping him get started there. I would like to take her a book to work on if she has time. So, it will be a teacherly errand."

Nehi looked unsure. "Why doan 'cha a-take Morgan here wi' ya?"

"Okay, I will. We'll go after school tomorrow, Morgan?"

"Sure. I'm still trying to find work. Nothing else to do."

"Oh! Morgan!" It was Mrs. Fitzsimmons. "My sister says that Mart needs a hand at Large Mart. Stop and talk to him tomorrow. I recommended you to Mirabelle and she said she'd talk to Mart."

"There's a Mart in Large Mart?"

Mrs. Fitzsimmons laughed. "Chuck can explain."

She went back into the kitchen, calling out Molly's name and offering another mug of milk.

Nehi stood up. "Ya ought-a talk to the sheriff a-fore ya head out to Shaws. Let 'im know where yer going. I cain't go. I gotta run ride out 'n meet the coach. Constance is wurried that the Numbers Gang's gotten stirr'd up an' will strike agin'."

"I'll tell him, Nehi."

"Chuck!"

The conversation was interrupted by an excited Ellie. "Chuck!"

"Yes, Ellie, what?" Mrs. Fitzsimmons came in with Molly tagging along, Molly sporting a milk-mustache.

"I got a job!"

"Already? That's great. What is it? Lou's?"

Ellie shook her head, reaching up to unpin the small hat she wore. "No, Dr. Woodcomb hired me as his assistant."

"Devon? I didn't know he needed an assistant." _Or could afford one, given the drop in business._

"Well, he saw me on my way to Mrs. Beckman's. I stopped...er, he stopped me, you know, to say hello. We had talked at Sunday dinner about his practice and my old interest in medicine. He told me he thought about me...thought about it overnight and decided to offer me a job. I actually started right then. We...um...we made a housecall, one for which Dev...Dr. Woodcomb needed a _woman _assistant."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons caught a look from Ellie that matched her tone, and she asked Molly to come back to the kitchen, so they could shave off her milk mustache. "Can't have two white-whiskered folks in my house at the same time, folks'll think I'm running a home for the elderly."

Nehi touched his face self-consciously. "Maybes I should be a-shavin', Spendin' so much time aroun' you, Dee-vine, s'makin' me look a li'l like one-a them there ol' time prophets."

Ellie sat down where Nehi had been. "Dr. Woodcomb and I paid a call on the ladies who work for Anna Wu. Dr. Woodcomb, Chuck, he said you shamed him. Not worrying about your reputation but just accepting folks. He's treated them before, but always made them come to him. This time, we went together."

"You was upstairs 'n the Bar None, Miss Bartowski…" Nehi whistled. "That's mightly li-be-ral thinkin' by you an' the Doc."

"It's good we went. Zondra had...a complaint."

None of Chuck, Nehi or Morgan asked for details. In fact, all blushed.

"I helped her, showed her how to use the...medicine that she needed. Anway," Ellie cleared her throat, "I have a job I am excited about. I will be learning as I go, becoming something of a real nurse."

"That's great, Ellie, really. And I am excited to hear that Devon is taking the fight to the town. As I told you, he's had a difficult month."

"I know, Chuck. We chatted about that yesterday, and again today. How could anyone think that man murdered a woman? Pffft. Nonsense."

Chuck nodded. "That's what I think." Nehi nodded too. Morgan added a nod after a brief pause.

Nehi and Morgan left. Ellie went to change for supper. Molly was in the front yard, helping Mrs. Fitzsimmons plant flowers. Chuck looked out the window at them, then noticed Ruth Justus, standing on the boardwalk in the distance, staring at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' house.

* * *

Sarah was in her bedroom. She had her mother's picture in her hands. It had been taken by a traveling photographer a year or so before her mother's sudden, fatal illness. She was beautiful. Somehow, the blonde of her hair shone even in the grainy black and white photograph. And her gentle smile made Sarah smile back, as it always did. It made Sarah feel better - that was why it was in her hands.

It had been an awful day. The shouts of the shepherds. The ride to Devil's Point. The wholesale slaughter, the mass of white and red at the bottom of the cliff, sheep burst on the rocky ground. Sarah had stayed for a long time, trying to comfort her father, who was tomb-silent and grey. He had vomited when he first saw the scene. It had been all Sarah could manage not to do so too. She had stumbled back to the wagon and leaned against it until she could stand on her own.

Her father gave final orders and they rode back, neither speaking. Sarah could feel her father's rage - bottled and capped but storming away inside him. She was enraged too, and deeply sad. The cruelty and waste of it. It made no sense. Why would the Number Gang do it? True, the Gang had twice stolen her father's payroll - and that had put tremendous pressure on her father, on her. But still - to slaughter defenseless animals?

When they got to the ranch, Sarah went to her bedroom and took up her mother's picture, hoping for solace. It had been in her hands often since she set the date with Daniel.

* * *

Sarah's mom. Emma.

Sarah's childhood had been a mess. Her father had met her mother during his travels, early in his days as a confidence-man, early in the days of his masquerades. It had happened in Dumfries, Virginia.

His mother had been a Methodist pastor's daughter, and Jack Walker had fallen for her as soon as he saw her, blonde and immaculate in a white dress. He had been running a scam on her father's congregation, promising them a church organ on subscription. The difficulty - the hook - was that the subscription required a large initial payment, one that would tax the small congregation's resources.

Jack had been seated in the rear pew, and, when Emma's father finished preaching that first Sunday Jack was there, her father invited Jack to explain the subscription and to show drawings of the organ. He did. As always, he was good at his job, charming and clever, gaining the confidence of the people around him.

The congregation came up with the down payment - but it took them a couple of weeks. During those two weeks, Jack romanced Emma. She fell for him with the same stone's plummet. In the end, Jack couldn't bring himself to do it, to steal from the congregation. He came up with an excuse for it - the organ company suddenly going out of business (it had never existed, of course) - and returned the church's money.

Jack then asked Emma to marry him. She accepted his proposal, despite her father's increasing doubts about Jack's character. They married a few days later. Emma left Dumfries with her new husband. It did not take long for her to get pregnant and to realize what Jack really was. Emma tried desperately to reform him. She deeply loved him and wanted to be his wife - and she was carrying his child. Jack vowed he would reform. For a time, he tried. He got regular work and Sarah was born. But Jack slowly backslid into confidence-games. Eventually, Emma realized that, and she left him, taking Sarah with her. Emma went back to her father, back to Dumfries.

Jack, shocked and hurt by the loss of his wife and daughter, followed them. He begged and made new promises and he stopped the confidence-games. Until Sarah was about three, all was good. Jack and his father-in-law re-established a relationship and Jack spent some time studying with the pastor.

But then an old friend of Jack's arrived in town. He had a plan for a major confidence game, and he needed Jack. Emma had gotten sick that winter and was still very weak. Jack was trying to care for Sarah, for Emma, and keep his job. The temptation of his friend's plan was too much. He joined the confidence-game with his old friend. It worked. They made a small fortune and divided it between them. Emma found out what Jack had done and she told him she was done, she was quitting him since he could not quit his old life. But she was still unwell. Her father died at around the same time, sending deepening her emotional depression along with her physical weakness. Still, weak though she was, she was adamant: she would no longer live with Jack as husband and wife.

Jack decided to leave and he decided to take Sarah. Emma was too weak to care for her and the pastor had been Emma's only other family. So, one night, Jack packed the two of them up and they boarded the train, leaving Emma behind.

For the next several years, Jack did not so much raise his daughter as train a new confidence-artist. The beautiful little girl, a smaller version of her mother, had her father's gifts. She was a wild, untamed child, her hair a tangle, her clothes a mess - unless Jack needed her to be presentable, and play a role in a con. She was rude and uncouth - as Emma later put it - used to being around grown men, and not grown men who had long ago fallen off virtue. Her father kept them at bay when she got old enough for her beauty to tempt them, and Sarah had by then developed a low opinion of men generally.

At around that time, Sarah was 14 or 15, she wasn't sure herself anymore, she and her father had conned another confidence-artist out of a huge amount of money. Just as they were about to skip town with it, Emma showed up. She had recovered from her long illness and had been searching for her husband and daughter.

There had been an immediate tug-of-war for Sarah, but, as they fought, her parents to their own surprise, found that they were still in love. Jack somehow convinced Emma to join him again, join them, be his wife, take the money, and head west.

They ended up in Idaho Falls and began the sheep ranch. Jack had, finally, gone straight. He started preaching on the side, partly out of his wife's good influence, partly out of the delayed influence of her father. Emma then began to work to raise Sarah, reel her in. The process was slow - Emma sometimes jokingly called it her version of _The Taming of the Shrew_. For a long time, it was unclear whether Sarah's wild upbringing or her mother's smooth refinement would win out, as Sarah raced across the countryside on horseback and became a crack shot. Eventually, though, her mother's love outlasted Sarah's miseducation - and her mother's Virginia finish began to rub off onto the daughter. It was not a change Sarah disliked, even if it did discomfit her.

Just as Sarah and her mother grew close, Emma became ill, dipped quickly, and died. No one had been prepared. Not Jack. Certainly not Sarah. She was trapped between versions of herself - the wild girl and the gentle beauty, a changeling stalled in mid-change.

She was still stalled - and maybe now would always be. Daniel Shaw wanted the gentle beauty and only the gentle beauty. He would not tolerate the wild girl. If he knew about Sarah in black, astride her black stallion, he would have been enraged.

Sarah had let Chuck have a glimpse of the wild girl in his room, but she had not explained any of it to him; she wasn't sure he grasped the significance of the little she said. He had only gotten a good look at the gentle beauty, and while she trusted he would embrace the wild girl too, she worried that he might falter when he knew about the wild girl's past, her dishonesty, the dishonesty (the conning of a confidence-artist, but still..) of her family.

Sarah worried that it had been that dishonesty that killed her mother, that her mother had literally been unable to live with the dishonesty.

Sarah's deep fear of telling Chuck about that dishonesty was among the reasons she was capitulating to Daniel. Sarah thought she could live - after a fashion - without Chuck but was not sure she could live through him rejecting her.

* * *

Sarah traced her mother's face with her finger.

The glass covering the photo felt cool, not warm as she remembered her mother's face had felt, not warm as was the smile beneath the glass.

Sarah was worried. The killing of the sheep seemed a bad sign, almost apocalyptic. She worried that her father was no longer willing to accede to the Shaw's wishes as the realization of those wishes came nearer. She worried that the killing of the sheep was a response to her father's mad sermon the day before. She worried that Chuck might force a confrontation with Daniel - and she knew Daniel would willingly kill Chuck.

She worried.

She lay back on the bed. She needed a plan. She had accepted all of this for too long. It was time to trust Chuck's heart and trust that she was his choice, no matter what her past.

There had to be something she could do, something other than worry, other than capitulate.

"Oh, Mom, tell me what to do, please."

The photograph continued to smile but it did not speak.

* * *

Chuck walked into the sheriff's office. He had stepped in before with Nehi but had never really looked around.

It was a bare, brutal affair. The inner walls of the building were unfinished, unpainted. The sheriff's desk was really just a large table, Nehi's desk a smaller one. Wanted Posters decorated the walls. A rack of rifles hung heavily on one wall. A doorway led from the front room into the back, into the cells. That door was open, and Chuck could see that the bars of the cells were about four feet or so from the wall, so that there was a narrow walkway between the wall with the door and the cells.

Mark Constance had his giant boots on his desk, an old, rusty tin cup in his hand. He was sipping coffee. He nodded when Chuck came in but did not change posture.

"Hello, Sheriff. Nehi asked me to tell you that my friend Morgan and I are riding out to Shaw's ranch. I need to take a book to Monica Stutts. Her father just started cooking for David Shaw."

Constance closed his eyes instead of nodding. Chuck started to turn and leave when Constance spoke.

"Mr. Bartowski, Chuck, I've heard a tale or two abou' Daniel Shaw havin' words with ya at The Bar None. My li'l tale-tellin' birdy rates the problem between ya to be Miss Walker, Shaw's wife-to-be. Now, you're a grown man an' it ain't my place to order ya aroun' when ya ain't brekkin' the law, but ya need to be careful. The law's stretch'd thin out here, and it hardly restrains some folk. Doan go getting yourself killed in a fight ya can't win, a fight I cain't help ya win. Not as things are."

Chuck had turned back to listen. "I won't, Sheriff."

Constance raised a skeptical eyebrow. "'Course you might manage to lure Shaw inta murderin' ya, and then I might be able to take the boy down. Much as I'd like that, I like you more, Chuck. Doan go bein' no martyr. Nehi calls ya 'Divine', an' I like it, but ya better not take that talk-ta heart."

Chuck stepped toward the sheriff. "Look, Sheriff, I just want to mention something to you. I was out at the railroad camp on Saturday, as you asked. I didn't find out much but I did have an odd moment."

Constance's other eyebrow rose interrogatively. Chuck: "I heard Thad Howells say something much like Number One said when my stagecoach was held up. His voice - Howell's voice sounded identical to Number One's."

Silence hung in the room, nearly as heavy as the rifle rack. "S' that so? Thad Howells, Number One?" Constance scratched the side of his head and narrowed his eyes. "Huh. Food for thought, Chuck. I take it ya know about Devil's Point?" Chuck nodded. The sheriff took a notebook out of his pocket. A short pencil was shut inside it. He opened it and wrote for a second. "Thanks again, Chuck."

Chuck left without understanding the sheriff's reaction. But Morgan was outside, already on a horse. He had Jenny by the reins. Chuck swung himself up - he was getting good at it, smooth - and they headed to Shaw's ranch. He put the sheriff's reaction out of his mind but he did mull over the sheriff's warning.

* * *

Chuck and Morgan chatted on the ride but did not talk about anything of substance. Well, except for Morgan's new job. He'd been hired at Large Mart and was to start the next day. That occupied them for a while.

Chuck was nervous about the visit and Morgan could sense that. They talked about their childhood in Boston, people they had known. Chuck told Morgan more about Carina, Zondra, and (though Chuck knew little about her) Anna Wu.

The conversation died down and they rode on in the slanted afternoon sunlight. After a few minutes, they came over a small rise and under a tall gateway, _Shaw_, was burned into the wood overhead. In the distance, they could see the ranch, built on the same plan as Walker's ranch, but on a larger scale. There were numerous outbuildings, barns, and bunkhouses. People moved in large numbers, all seemingly orchestrated. It seemed as much a barracks as a ranch.

As Chuck and Morgan drew near, they saw Daniel standing just off the porch. He had his hand up, shading his eyes, hatless. Turning, he went into the house. By the time Chuck and Morgan got to the porch, Shaw was on it, gun strapped on, a hat on his head. He leaned against the house, a grin on his face. A hand Chuck had never seen met them and took the horses. Daniel said nothing as they dismounted. Chuck ran to catch up with Jenny and dug a book out of the saddlebag. It was Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_. He walked up onto the porch.

"Hello, Daniel. I brought this book out for Monica Stutts. Her dad's working here now, as you know, and she's helping, and I thought she could use this book to keep up with her studies. There are some geometry problems on a sheet inside for her too."

Shaw smirked. "You puzzle me, teacher. A doctor making housecalls, I understand. That's life and death. But you? What do you have to offer that matters to any man or woman with red blood in his or her veins?"

Chuck meant to bite his tongue but he missed. "The problem with explaining education to the uneducated is that they are the uneducated. It's like trying to explain perfect pitch to someone who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Shaw stood, rigid. His hand dropped to his side, his fingers curled.

"Daniel!"

David Shaw stood in the doorway. He looked worse than he had at church. Not angry but...ill. His skin was grey, his eyes rheumy. He moved carefully. Chuck realized, seeing him now without his jacket, that his shirt was hanging loosely, blouse-y, too big. Clearly, he was unwell.

"I thank you for going to so much trouble for a student, Mr. Bartowski. Please come in."

David stood back from the door and Chuck and Morgan entered. The house was expensively appointed, done in brilliantly polished wood and black leather. Chuck carried the book across the room to put it on a table. As he did, he noticed a daguerreotype on the table, a tall, lovely blonde woman, her face inexpressive. As he put the book down, he asked David about it. "That is a beautiful woman. May I ask who she is?"

Chuck turned. Daniel was scowling but David was staring fixedly at the daguerreotype. "That was my wife, Rena, Daniel's mother. She died giving birth to Daniel." David's tone made it clear that no more was going to be said about her.

David pulled a cord and a bell rang in another part of the house. He invited them to sit. Chuck introduced Morgan to David. Daniel alternated between staring at Chuck and glaring at his father. A few moments later, Monica Stutts came in. She was carrying a tray. On it were glasses and a pitcher of water. She poured water for everyone and left without making eye contact with Chuck. Thirsty, Chuck drank the entire glass. David and Daniel sat with their glasses in their hands, untouched.

Chuck stood. "Well, I just wanted to leave the book for Monica. We'll go now." David got up slowly. Daniel jumped up and opened the door. His smirk as he held it made Chuck boil. "You know, Daniel," Chuck said, "I was talking to Doctor Woodcomb and he tells me you were in my city, Boston, a while back. We must have run in different circles."

Daniel's smirk weakened for a second then it strengthened. "I doubt you spent much time on Beacon Hill."

Chuck nodded. "True, but I imagine even you didn't spend all your time there either."

Shaw's black eyes darkened and Chuck walked out. Morgan followed. A tense couple of minutes passed as they waited for the horses. When the hand brought them, they got on quickly and rode away. When they were past the tall gate, Morgan whooshed out a breath. "What the hell, Chuck? Daniel Shaw was in Boston? And you only found out about that once you got here?"

Chuck didn't answer. He had seen the ranch. He was contemplating that daguerreotype.

* * *

A/N: So, there. Moving ahead. Thoughts?


	15. Spontaneous Synchronization

A/N1: Saddle up!

The web of incidence tightens.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

_Spontaneous Synchronization_

* * *

Wednesday, Oct.7, 1885  
Near Idaho Falls

* * *

After school on Wednesday, Chuck rode Jenny to the scene of the stagecoach hold-up.

Johnny Constance, Thad Howells, Number One, the Shaws, and Miss Reynolds - all were whirling in his mind. But at the center of the whirl, his fixed point although she herself was rotating in place, was Sarah.

As she rotated in his mind's eye, he saw her first in the white dress of the Festival and then in the black she wore when she visited his room. He wasn't sure how to reconcile her clothes, her colors - in much the same way that each morning he stalled before choosing his hat, his white one or his black one.

He needed quiet, time to reflect. He rode back to where it all started, to the scene.

But he did not stay on the road, although he rode back and forth over the distance between where the coach had stopped and where Bob's trampled body had lain. After that, he nudged Jenny up the slope to the spot where he had seen the blonde rider. He now believed it was Sarah - but there was still so much about her he did not understand.

The fall Idaho evening sky was blue and orange-red, streaked with gray clouds. A cool breeze was blowing. After sunset, the breeze would be cold.

Chuck was bleary-eyed.

It had been a long day at school. Johnny Constance had been sullen on Monday, sullen on Tuesday and absent that morning. His mother stopped by the school at lunchtime, hoping Johnny had shown up, but he had not. His bed had been empty. Mirabelle was deeply worried. So was Chuck. He had taken Jenny out partly on the irrational hope that he might simply run across Johnny. But he hadn't.

Chuck had not slept well. The visit to Shaw's ranch had upset him more deeply than he knew at the time. The ranch's resources, David's illness, Monica's silence, the daguerreotype, Daniel's smirking, and Chuck's imprudent verbal prods to Daniel - all upsetting.

_Daniel_. Chuck's sleep had been fitful - he woke with Ahab's words ringing in his head: _From Hell's heart, I stab at thee!_ Hell's heart. What was it Swedenborg had written? _The hells are everywhere_.

He dismounted and wrapped Jenny's reins around the base of a small tree. She began to nip at the surrounding grass, content. Chuck walked to the giant pine and sat down, resting his back against it, discontent.

_Why was Sarah up here that day? Was it just a coincidence? _

_She told me she had been waiting for me. Had she meant that as a description of her expectant state of mind or as a description of a specific action she had taken - or both?_

Chuck had no answers and he had not had a chance to talk to Sarah at all.

Even that night in his room, he had been just drunk enough not to realize that they needed to talk. He had let the feeling of her body against him lull him into sleep. He should have insisted that they talk, that she explain what she told him. If only he had been himself, in full command of his faculties! If only Sarah had said…

"Chuck?"

Chuck looked up. He had been so lost among his thoughts that he had not heard her approach. Given the sleek, heavy-muscled stallion she rode that was hard to believe. Perhaps the horse, like its rider, had mastered silences.

"Sarah?" Chuck stood, never taking his eyes off Sarah.

She was dressed in black, head to toe, and had a black bandana tied around her hair. Her face was flushed by her ride, her blue eyes intensely alive, as they had been in his room that night.

"It was you, up here, that day."

Sarah's eyes dropped but she nodded. "What are you doing here, Chuck?"

"Wrestling angels, I guess, good and bad." He glanced away from her. "As much as anything, I've been thinking about you."

A half-smile formed on her face and she looked up. "Am I a _good_ angel or a _bad_ one, Chuck?"

A hint of something - mischief? - in her eyes that made him unsure which answer she hoped he would give. He gazed at her, black on black. Her smile grew. "Is it really that hard to answer me, Chuck?" Her voice lilted.

He forced his thoughts back under control. "A good angel, Sarah." The smile slowly left her face and she studied him.

Her voice was low when she spoke, and her horse trembled under her as she did. "What if I am both, Chuck?"

Chuck stepped closer. Sarah's horse snorted, tensed. Chuck paused.

"It's okay, boy," Sarah said, rubbing the horse's neck. Chuck extended his hand and rubbed near where Sarah was rubbing. The horse relaxed. Sarah gave Chuck a curious look but did not comment.

"If you are both, Sarah" Chuck whispered, looking up at her as he continued to stroke the horse, "then I want _both_, all of you."

Sarah's half-smile returned but with reservation, a quarter-smile. "Chuck, there are things you need to know about me, about my family…"

"And there are things you need to know about me, my family…"

They both fell quiet and looked at each other. The horse snorted again but more softly. Chuck laughed as he looked at Sarah. "I'm pretty sure he's finding the silence uncomfortable."

Sarah shrugged. "I guess that makes three."

Chuck nodded. "I guess so." He extended his hand to help Sarah off the horse. She looked at his hand but made no move to take it. She bit her lower lip instead.

"I...I shouldn't...I can't stay, Chuck. Like you, I was trying to think. I think best when I am riding, when we" - she patted the black horse -"are tearing through the countryside."

Chuck listened and continued to rub the horse. "What's his name?"

"I've never named him. The ranch hands called him _Demonio_. But that is not his name. It's what _they_ call him"

Nodding, Chuck removed his hand from the horse and stepped back, looking at him. "I've never seen his equal."

Sarah was staring at Chuck as she answered, but he did not realize it. "Me, either."

"Do you recall that passage in _Job_, Sarah, when God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind?"

"Yes, near the end."

"Right. When I look at him, your horse, I see God in the whirlwind."

Sarah stared at Chuck again and he realized it this time. "What, Sarah?"

'I've never known what to call him - he has no name - but _I _will call him Whirlwind." She leaned down and patted the horse. She whispered to him: "Whirlwind." The horse nickered.

Sarah sat up, grinning. "He's happy with that. Thanks, Chuck."

Chuck extended his hand to her again. She took it this time.

As she dismounted, she threw herself into Chuck's arms and began to kiss him greedily. He kissed her the same way. When they broke apart, Sarah licked her lips, then playfully kissed the tip of Chuck's nose.

She became self-conscious after that, and she turned away, leading Whirlwind toward Jenny. The horses greeted each other calmly, blowing then nuzzling one another's coat. Chuck stood and watched. Sarah laughed softly as she tied Whirlwind beside Jenny. "Quite a day, huh, boy? You get called Whirlwind and you find a woman friend? It's raining blessings."

Sarah turned and walked back to Chuck. She scanned the area around them, then led him by the hand back to beneath the giant pine where she found him.

She sat down and tugged Chuck down beside her.

"Sarah, Ellie told me she talked to you at Patel's. She told you she sold our house. I have half the money from it coming to me. It should be available at the bank in a few days. If that money could help you or your father in any way, you are welcome to it. You could take it, Sarah, and get away from here, away from Daniel. Run."

She gazed at him softly. "Would you come with me, Chuck? Run with me?"

"Not right away. I'd have to make sure that Ellie and Morgan and Molly are settled, okay." _I can't leave until I have settled things with Shaw._

She put her head on his chest. "Thank you for the offer, Chuck, but you know it can't work. I couldn't leave Dad here to face the Shaws. You couldn't leave Ellie and Morgan and Molly to face them. We can't run, even if it is a wonderful dream...getting on the train, getting a private compartment, getting married at the first stop where we could, so we could..._use_ the private compartment…" She snuggled closer to him, preventing him from seeing her face clearly, but he could see her blush.

He pulled her against him. "I know, I just had to offer. I can't stand the thought of...of…"

She trembled in his arms. "I can't, either…I can't _give_ myself to him, Chuck, or be..._taken_. Oh, Chuck!" She began to cry. Chuck held her.

"I'll stop him, Sarah. I will."

"No, Chuck," she pushed him away, allowing him to see her wet cheeks. "No, don't do something foolish. Daniel is a dangerous man. And you, Chuck, are not."

"How can you be sure, Sarah. Good and bad angels, remember? If you are both, can't I be both?"

Sarah studied him again, looking into his eyes as if she were sounding his depths with her eyes. After a moment, she shook her head. "No. You may believe you are both or can be both, Chuck, but you can't."

Chuck felt a flash of annoyance - and of guilt. _I've vowed to kill your fiancé. _ "How do you know, Sarah? I'm not some weak-kneed do-gooder, a glowing, white-livered bookworm."

"Chuck, I do not think of you like that. You are a strong man, the strongest I've ever known" - she ran her hand back-and-forth across his chest and the tip of her tongue showed between her lips as she did, and her breath caught, " and I don't question your courage. Not for a minute." She leaned forward and kissed him quickly.

She sat back and her face became shy. "Chuck, if...you want to...I want to. I'll give myself to you, right here, right now. I want to, I _really_ want to. I want it to be you…the first, the only." She ran one hand across his chest again, and she used her other to take his hand and press it against her chest.

Chuck was breathing fast; Sarah too. Chuck gently pulled his hand back. "Sarah, no. There is nothing I want more, never in my life have I wanted anything more - but not like this, not now. I want you to give yourself to me...as my wife."

Sarah's face split into a sad smile.

"What?"

"I wasn't exaggerating, Chuck. I really want to. But you also just proved my point. You are good, Chuck."

"But, Sarah, I really want to, too. Really."

She leaned close to him, the mischief in her eyes again. "I know you do, Chuck. That makes your refusal _more_, not less proof of my point." She leaned into him, pressing her chest against him and kissing him again. The kiss grew heated, heated - until Sarah leaned away from Chuck, ending it. She sighed and winked at him, smiling with her kiss-swollen lips. "My good angel."

Chuck took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "So, we're stuck here. There has to be some way of stopping the wedding."

Sarah gave Chuck a dejected shrug. "I haven't been able to come up with anything."

Chuck decided it was time. "Sarah, how much do you know about Daniel, really? He seems worse than just _smug_...You called him _dangerous_. Do you know if he had...any sort of relationship with Miss Reynolds?"

Sarah straightened. "Why do you ask, Chuck?"

"It isn't common knowledge, but Dr. Woodcomb saw a man answering Shaw's description talking to her at the window - the window to my room, the one you used. She was dead the next day."

Sarah's face whitened and Chuck quickly went on. "Now, Devon couldn't positively identify the man as Daniel, but…"

"Why didn't Devon make this common knowledge, Chuck?"

"He didn't want it to seem like a flimsy attempt to redirect blame from himself. He couldn't claim in good conscience that the man was Daniel, and he did not want to accuse a man falsely."

"Yes, but he let himself be suspected. Some still suspect him."

"I know, but he's likely through the worst of it now; the sheriff no longer suspects him."

"But the court of public opinion, Chuck, the one that Mrs. Justus presides over, it still suspects him."

Chuck took her hand. "Devon made his choice to do things as he has. It's been hard on him and on his business, but I believe he acted honorably."

She smiled at Chuck. "Of course, you do. But, to answer your earlier question, I know of no relationship between Miss Reynolds and Daniel. I don't recall ever so much as seeing them in the same room, except at church. He's never mentioned her to me or in my hearing." She stopped. "I do know that - before our engagement, anyway - he used to visit upstairs at The Bar None."

Chuck let that pass. "Has he ever...hurt you?"

Sarah's brow contracted. "No, not really. He...manhandles me sometimes. I stomped on his foot a couple of different times, and since then, he mostly behaves - unless you're around, and I haven't dared react then, Chuck. Why do you ask? Do you think he really could have had something to do with Miss Reynolds' death?"

Chuck sighed. "I don't know."

He could not tell her about Jill. It would mean telling her about the visions, telling her why he came to Idaho Falls. It would mean explaining who Jill was, explaining Molly. It would mean confessing the vendetta. But on top of it all, if he convinced her, it would make her already impossible position more impossible. Telling her might start a range war.

Chuck needed to keep her in the dark for a little longer - long enough to come up with _something. _A gunfight was the last resort. He would keep practicing. But he would keep working on what happened to Miss Reynolds, keep trying to figure it out. He hated himself for it but he said no more.

"But you _believe_ he did, Chuck?"

Shrugging, Chuck shook his head. "I don't...I don't know. It's confusing. There seems to be no solid evidence to go on at all."

"God, Chuck, this just gets worse and worse. I don't like Daniel, to put it mildly. But I've been able to pretend to so far, mostly. If I thought…"

"Don't. Don't think. Don't think that. Keep pretending a while longer. We'll figure something out."

She sat for a moment, then nodded. She flexed her shoulders, lifted her chin. "Chuck, I need you to know something, something about me and pretending, about me and…"

A sound of riders reached them and Sarah stopped talking. They looked down at the road. Two riders. One of them was the man they were talking about. The other had his hat low on his head, unidentifiable.

"Oh, no," Sarah whispered. "They might be looking for me. Daniel was not supposed to come to the ranch tonight but…"

"Go, Sarah. Get on Whirlwind. They're heading the wrong way. You'll be far ahead of them even if they turn around. You'll only increase the distance. I doubt any horse could run with yours, much less catch him. Go!"

She ran to Whirlwind, untied him and climbed on. She looked at Chuck for a second. "Know this, Chuck Bartowski. Sarah Walker loves you."

Chuck blinked back instant tears. "And Chuck Bartowski loves Sarah Walker. Now, go!"

She shook the reins and that was all the signal Whirlwind needed. A black flash and they were gone.

* * *

Although Chuck untied Jenny, he did not get on.

He stood with her reins in his hand, watching the road. If Daniel turned around, he would almost certainly stay on the road. If so, Chuck would be sure to cross his path. He knew that might end badly for him, but he also knew there was no way that Daniel would ride past him. Chuck could make doubly sure that Sarah got away. He had no idea where she kept Whirlwind or changed her clothes - but he knew she could not leave the Walker ranch on that horse, dressed that way. She needed time if Daniel was looking for her, maybe more time than Whirlwind could purchase for her.

Chuck stood for a long time, more than half an hour, but Daniel never returned. Chuck got on Jenny and headed back toward town. It would be dark, or close to it, when he got there.

He was riding along, reviewing his conversation and kisses with Sarah, when he heard a rider. He was almost certain it was only one, not two. The rider was coming from behind Chuck, moving fast, perhaps faster than was safe in the twilight. Chuck nudged Jenny to the side of the road. The rider came near, then passed Chuck. Chuck turned to the rider and the rider to Chuck.

Even in the twilight, Chuck knew her. It was Carina Miller. She was dressed like a man. A cowboy hat, her hair gathered beneath it. She had on a flannel shirt and a vest, the vest hiding her figure, and a pair of thick, dark trousers. Boots. Chuck looked her over again, not believing his own eyes. But the smile and the challenge in her eyes made her unmistakable.

"Carina?"

"Howdy, Boston. Long time, no talk."

"You told me to stay away."

She nodded, frowned. "I know. Thanks for listening. And thanks for nothing."

"Damned either way?"

" 'Fraid so, Boston. I'm was going to be pissed if you listened and pissed if you didn't. Woman's prerogative." She shrugged.

Chuck nodded to her clothes. "Your claim on that prerogative is...um...tenuous this evening, Carina."

She grinned after looking down at herself as if she had forgotten what she was wearing. "What? This old thing?"

"May I ask why you are dressed like John Casey?"

Carina guffawed, at once a creditable interpretation of Casey and a genuine laugh, despite the mimicry. "That's funny, Boston. Maybe I did sort of have him in mind."

"So, may I ask?"

"You may but I may not answer."

"Why are you dressed like John Casey?"

She gave Chuck a look and then a long, slow shrug. "It's a...work thing."

She said no more and they rode on, the deepening darkness obscuring them from one another.

"That's all I get?"

"Oh, I'd like to give you more, Boston, a lot more, but that's not in our cards, I fear." He heard the leather of her saddle creak. She had straightened more in the saddle. "I've got to go, Boston. Sneak in. Can't have everyone in town seeing me like _this_. Keep my...masquerade to yourself, okay?"

"Okay."

She put her hand on his arm for a second and then she spurred her horse to a gallop. The darkness swallowed her.

* * *

When Chuck finally got back to Mrs. Fitzsimmons', she was seated in the living room, weeping.

She looked awful, her eyes puffy, hardly able to speak. Chuck crossed to her. Wobbling, she stood. "They found him out in the woods. He was just...hanging there."

She grabbed Chuck and hugged him. He hugged her back. After a moment, between sobs, he asked. "Mrs. Fitzsimmons, who did they find?"

"Johnny, my nephew, Johnny. He hanged himself in the woods."

The room spun around Chuck. "Oh, dear God, Clarel. I'm so sorry. Is he…"

"He's alive - but he ain't awake. Doc Woodcomb's' tending to him. Ellie's with them. Molly's in bed, asleep."

Chuck stayed with Mrs. Fitzsimmons long enough to see her go to her room, then he left the house, dashing up the street to Devon's.

* * *

Chuck opened the door. Devon was kneeling next to a cot. Johnny Constance was on it. His neck was badly swollen, purple. He was breathing; Chuck could hear the rasp. Ellie was standing next to Devon, holding a tray.

"Devon, Ellie, how is he?"

Devon stood. "I don't know, Chuck. He's not responsive to anything I do."

"He hanged himself?"

Devon shook his head sadly. "Yes, they found him in the woods."

"Who did?"

Devon shrugged. "I don't know. They cut him down and took him to the sheriff. He brought Johnny here."

Chuck looked down at the boy. Up close, his neck was nightmarish, swollen and bruised and rope-burned. "Why, Devon? Why'd he do it? I mean I know that…"

Devon reached into his pocket and handed Chuck a piece of ruled paper, torn raggedly from a ledger. On it was written: _I did it. _Chuck recognized the handwriting. It was Johnny's.

* * *

A/N2: Thoughts?


	16. More's the Pity

A/N1: Head 'em up! Move 'em out!

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

_More's the Pity_

* * *

Thursday, October 8, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Part One: Morning

* * *

As Chuck trudged toward the schoolhouse the next morning, shaky from lack of sleep, he stopped off at Devon's office.

He knocked softly. Ellie opened the door. It was obvious she had spent the night with the patient, as had the patient's mother, Mirabelle Constance. Both looked exhausted.

Chuck had a plate of fresh biscuits in on hand, covered with a white cloth. Steam was rising through cloth; Mrs. Fitzsimmons had taken them from the oven and put them on the plate just as Chuck left. Ellie inhaled and gave Chuck a weary smile, her green eyes puffy from lack of sleep. She took the plate and offered it to Mirabelle. She lifted the cloth and the steam rose more thickly. She grabbed one and took a bite. Chuck reached into his pocket to extract a small jar of strawberry preserves. He handed them to Mirabelle, his hand shaking and his eyes watering. She gave him a wan smile and took the preserves. She put the plate down on one of the tables in the office. Ellie sat down with her and they started to eat.

There was a knock on the door and Chuck opened it. Carina was standing there in a dress, a modest one, with an urn in her hand. The smell of hot coffee mixed with the steam of the biscuits.

"Thanks, Carina."

"No problem," she said, crossing to the table and putting the urn down. Zondra came through the door a moment later with a tray of cups. She poured coffee for everyone. Devon had come downstairs, buttoning the final button on his vest. He looked at Ellie and smiled - but there was a question in his eyes.

"No change," Ellie said in answer.

"We heard about this late last night. Mrs. Constance, we're really sorry. Let us know if we can help." Zondra stood beside Carina as Carina spoke. Mirabelle looked at the two women for a moment, then she nodded her thanks, and took a handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe at her eyes.

"Thanks so much. Thanks."

Devon went right to Johnny. Chuck joined him. The bruising had gotten darker during the night but otherwise little had changed. Chuck whispered to Devon. "Who knows about the note? Is it still just us?"

Devon glanced around the room. The women were gathered around the table, eating and talking softly. "Yes. You, Ellie and me. I found it in Johnny's shirt pocket and I don't think Sheriff Constance knew it was there. You didn't mention it to Mrs. Fitzsimmons?"

"No, she was asleep when I got back but I don't think I would have said anything anyway. You haven't told Mirabelle?"

"No. Her son's attempted suicide is enough, for now, I think. But we will have to tell the sheriff today."

"I agree. I will. How is Johnny?"

Devon shrugged. "Beyond my medical science. He might wake up, he might not. He might wake up...damaged. He might not. Sorry, I can't provide answers, Chuck. I spent the night combing through books as Ellie watched over him. No luck though," Devon glanced at Ellie. "But I was lucky when your sister came to town and when she took this job. She's...she's a beauty, obviously, but she has a first-rate mind. I never have to explain more than once, and usually, I don't have to explain completely. She takes what I say and intuits the rest…"

Chuck nodded once. "I went through Harvard and she basically took every class I did, although she got no credit for it. I was the student I was because of my brilliant sister's help."

Devon allowed himself a small smile. "I'm sort of afraid of her, Chuck. I think I...well, now's not the time, I guess. Too soon and too much going on..."

Chuck gave Devon a knowing smile. "Don't wait too long. She's not timid."

"No, that she isn't."

"So, will you talk to Mark or will I?"

Devon was about to answer when there was yet another soft knock on the door. Chuck motioned for the women to stay seated and answered it. It was Diane Beckman, her husband, Bernard, and a man Chuck did not know.

The three entered quietly. Diane spoke softly in Mirabelle's ear, then joined Chuck and Devon near Johnny's cot. She looked down at the boy with soft eyes. Bernard joined her and took her hand. The third man hung back, looking lost and uncomfortable and incongruous in his expensive suit.

"I heard he was here. Sheriff Constance told me. We wanted to check on him."

Bernard, rail-thin and tall, nodded. "I hate this. I like the boy. Any chance it was foul play?"

Devon shook his head. "It's possible, of course, but unlikely. There's no sign of any struggle. Sheriff Constance went out to the place Johnny was found after bringing him to me. He saw no sign of anyone else there, although the men who cut him down had tramped around…"

"Who found him?" Bernard asked the question.

Devon shook his head again. "Don't know the names. A couple of saddle tramps, the sheriff said. Happened to be in the right place at the right time."

Diane broke in. "Are they still in Idaho Falls? The sheriff told us none of this when we saw him a few minutes ago, but we did not press him, seeing as how Johnny is his nephew."

"He told me the two men were going to spend the night at The Bar None."

The man in an expensive suit cleared his throat. "I believe they did. I saw them come in late and arrange a room with Anna Wu"

Diane turned to the man. "You got back in town yesterday, Roan?"

He took a second. "Yes, but it was late and I did not want to disturb folks making my return known."

"I knew when you left for San Francisco, you'd have a hard time coming back." Diane smiled at Roan. Bernard frowned at the smile, although he hid his frown from her by reaching up to rub his chin.

Roan smiled back - a large, charming smile - and a taunt. "I did very nearly stay. San Francisco is a city of delights."

Diane smile bowed down. "I can imagine," she offered curtly, turning back to Bernard, who stood, looking at Johnny, as if he had missed the exchange.

"Chuck," Diane said, still speaking curtly but then softening her tone, "Bernard believes we should cancel school today. Can you put up a sign? Once word of this gets around, and it will be around before much longer, who knows what will happen."

"Okay," Chuck said, "I'll go and do it in a minute."

Diane nodded, then so did Bernard.

Carina and Zondra got up and left. Ellie walked with them to the door and closed it behind them. Diane crossed back to Mirabelle and hugged her, then she left, Bernard beside her, Roan behind her.

Chuck went to Mirabelle. She stood and hugged him. Then Chuck hugged Ellie. "You need some sleep, Ellie."

"I know. I just wanted to make sure Devon got a little. I'll head to Mrs. Fitzsimmons' soon."

Chuck left and walked to the schoolhouse. He took his watch out. It was still early, too early for any students. He climbed the steps quickly and unlocked the red doors. He entered. As he headed toward the front, he looked to Johnny's empty seat and sighed.

When he got to his desk, he noticed that one of the drawers was not neatly closed. At the end of each day, Chuck, always particular about orderliness, made sure all the drawers were completely shut. He opened the one that was not quite shut. In it was the ledger in which Chuck kept attendance. With a sinking feeling, he opened the ledger. All seemed in order until he turned to the final page. It had been torn out and he recognized the ragged edge. The missing page was the page with Johnny's note. Chuck closed the ledger and put it down on the desktop.

He looked around the room. On the pegs back near the red doors was a vest. Chuck stepped down and walked to it quickly. He knew it as he drew near. It was Johnny's. He took it off the peg and folded it over his arm. As he did, he noticed a stiffness in the interior pocket. He held up the vest with one hand and reached into the pocket with the other. A folded sheet of paper was there. He took it out. It smelled faintly of perfume. Chuck unfolded it and the odor of the perfume became slightly stronger. Inside were a few words:

_Johnny,_

_Meet me at our place.  
__We need to talk. _

_Ida_

Chuck slipped the note back into the vest pocket. He looked up to see Ruth Justus standing in the doorway. She seemed focused on Chuck, not the vest. Chuck hung it back on the peg.

"Hi, Ruth. I was just about to put up a sign. School is canceled today. There's been an...accident and Johnny Constance is seriously hurt."

Ruth's expression saddened. But then she looked at Chuck. "Well, Mr. Bartowski, since I am here, is there anything I can do?"

Chuck looked around. "If you want to wash the board, that would be good. I'm going to sweep since the schoolhouse is empty." He glanced at the vest but left it hanging. He opened a side door and grabbed the rude broom.

Ruth smiled at him and took the bucket from the side room. She went to get water and Chuck started sweeping, trying to decide what to do. He needed to give the vest - and the note - to the sheriff. But it was going to make the situation worse. He studied the problem as he swept. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.

Ruth came back in with the bucket partially full. She went to the board and took up the rag on the tray beneath it. Chuck stopped sweeping for a moment, looking at her but not watching her. He was thinking. She looked over her shoulder and saw him; she smiled shyly, wet the rag in the bucket, and started washing the board.

Chuck started sweeping again. He went to get the dustpan and swept the collected dirt into it. He went out, down the steps, to dump it.

Carina was standing across the street, watching him. After a moment of decision, she strode across the street purposefully. She stopped when she got near Chuck.

"Boston, you really are a handful."

"What do you mean?"

"You need to be careful. I can't watch you around the clock, as much as I might like to have the night shift."

Chuck blushed. "What are you talking about, Carina?"

"That Justus girl, Chuck, she's been following you around like a moony calf for days. It is not a good idea for you to be in the schoolhouse alone with her."

Chuck was lost. "Huh?"

"That girl's in love with her teacher, Mr. Bartowski."

"Her teacher? Who? Oh." Chuck furrowed his brow. "Really?"

"I've seen that look on...other faces in town, Boston. I've seen it on the face of Daniel Shaw fiancée when she came to your room and when he's not looking, and I have seen it...in the shop windows on the street."

Chuck looked down the main street. "Who? Lou?"

"No, you lanky dummy, in _reflections_ in the windows."

It took Chuck a few seconds to do the math. "Oh. Carina…"

Carina looked around, nervously. It was a strange sight, nerves on her. "Yeah, um, well, all's fair...and all that. You pay your money, you take your chances. I'm a big girl. I'm a big girl, Chuck, and in all the right places, just in case you haven't noticed." She paused; Chuck gulped. "But the Justus girl isn't a big girl. This is probably her first time. She may not even quite realize it. But she could be big trouble for you even if she isn't a big girl…"

Carina paused. Chuck thought about Ida Reynolds' note in Johnny's vest. "You need to know what's going on - and frankly, you need to nip it in the bud. If her mother figures this out, she will blame you, accuse you. Her little girl would have to be lead astray and who would have led her but...you?"

"What should I do, Carina?"

"Tell her. Tell her you are spoken for. If you have to, tell her it's me. It won't be good for you, but it will be better than what might happen, especially if...if what I think happened with that boy at the Doc's is what happened."

"What do you think happened?"

Carina frowned deeply. "C' mon, Chuck. I'm a big girl. I've seen the boy around town. Seen him bump into Doc. Seen him glare at you. There was something between him and the last teacher. I'd bet a weekend's pay on it." Carina's frown had become a challenging glare. "And I think you know more about all this than you are letting on."

Chuck suddenly felt conspicuous there on the street, dustpan in hand. "I don't…"

"Save it, Chuck. I'm not questioning your motives. But I don't have much to do all day and my upstair's room overlooks the street. I've been watching Idaho Falls. Things are going to turn ugly here, and I worry that you're going to get caught in the storm."

"What should I do?" Chuck could hear the perplexity in his own voice.

"Something, Boston. I don't know exactly what - but start with the Justus girl. Start with her now."

Chuck looked down at the dustpan. He looked back up at Carina. Her expression was one of pity mixed with annoyance. "Look, Chuck. Meet me tonight, out on the road where I caught up with you last night. We can...compare notes. Can you get a horse again?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, I can."

"Good, when you get there, whistle a hymn. That way I'll know it's you. Bring that gun you take out when you and Nehi go shooting."

"What...I..I don't…"

"Chuck, lying is not your strong suit. Don't draw to it. Just meet me." She turned and walked away.

Chuck glanced up and down the street. No one seemed to have been paying attention to them. He walked back up the stairs and into the schoolhouse. Ruth had just finished with the board and was wringing the rag out into the bucket.

"Ruth," Chuck began, careful to modulate his tone, "that'll do. I'm going to lock up and put out the sign. You should go home."

Disappointment flashed across Ruth's face. "But, Mr. Bartowski, I can stay. I would be glad to help with lessons...or something...anything…" Her tone became soft. "I like to help you."

He knew then that Carina was right. "No, Ruth, there's nothing more to do. I think I will spend the day taking care of some personal matters."

Ruth stalled by the bucket. "I could help with those, Mr. Bartowski."

"No, Ruth. Thanks, but no. You really should go home. I'm sure your mother will want you there once she hears that school's been canceled."

At the mention of her mother, Ruth's shy smile vanished. "I saw you just now, Mr. Bartowski, talking to that...woman from The Bar None." An edge had formed in her voice. "Is she one of your errands?"

Chuck was not sure what to say. He was getting lost in all the cross-currents, in what he had said to folks and left unsaid: the things he had left unsaid to Sarah, but also the things he had left unsaid to the sheriff and to Ellie and to Morgan. He hadn't told out-and-out lies, but he had not been candid. He was filling up with secrets; his insides felt acrawl with them.

He allowed his annoyance with himself to color his answer. "Look, Ruth, I said the errands were _personal. _You are a very smart _girl. _ You know what 'personal' means."

He saw the hurt in her eyes. He cursed himself. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, discourage her. She was making real progress, had proven herself the equal, as a student, of Monica Stutts. He started on an apology. "Ruth, I'm sorry…"

She burst into tears and ran out of the schoolhouse. Chuck followed her to the door but stopped there. He could not run after her, have a conversation with her, on the street. She was already down the stairs, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.

_That did not go well. Not well at all._

He went to his desk and took a piece of paper. He wrote _School Canceled Today_ on it. As he left, he grabbed Johnny's vest. He shut the doors and locked them, and wedged the paper into the crack between the doors so that it was secure, visible.

He crossed the street to the sheriff's office, his shoulders slumped.

* * *

Sarah got off the seat in the wagon.

She had ridden to town with her father. Roan Montgomery had sent word that he was back and Jack had been eager to see him. Sarah had convinced him to let her ride along. She told him what was true: she needed to go to Patel's to see about buying trim for her wedding dress.

She had never done anything in her life as awful as the prospect of making that dress. A dress in which she would become Mrs. Daniel Shaw.

She had, when very little, imagined her wedding day, all bright light and pastel colors, happiness spread all around, but later, in the years she had spent assisting her father in his confidence-games, those imaginings had gone out-of-focus. When she finally accepted Daniel's proposal, they had darkened completely.

She wanted to make the dress out of funeral cloth, the blackest she could find - but of course, she could not do that. She could not get herself to make the dress at all until she played a confidence-game with herself. She imagined she was making it to wear when she became Mrs. Chuck Bartowski. As she worked, she strove to keep that image in mind. The image of Chuck in the front of the schoolhouse, waiting for her to wed him. As long as the picture was there, her hands worked nimbly, skillfully. But the picture kept warping, Daniel kept replacing Chuck. But she was now almost done with it. In a few weeks, she would wear it to marry the wrong man.

As she started toward Patel's, she glanced up and saw Carina Miller. Carina was framed in the window of an upstairs room of The Bar None. Carina saw Sarah see her. She jolted, then she crooked her finger at Sarah, and pointed from Sarah toward the back of the saloon.

Sarah stood still, undecided, then she started down the narrow street that ran along the side of The Bar None. When Sarah got to the back, Carina was at the foot of the rear stairs. She looked around then she spoke to Sarah. "Meet me at the cemetery in twenty minutes."

Again, Sarah stood still, undecided. Then she nodded. She turned and walked back down the side street and to Patel's. She made her purchases and put them in the wagon. Her father was still in Roan Montgomery's office, and likely would be for a time. Sarah started up the hill to the cemetery.

Sarah went through the gate in the fence. As she closed it and turned around, Carina stepped from behind the tree. Sarah walked to her and Carina turned and led her around the tree to its far side, out of view.

"What do you want, Miss Miller?"

"Call me Carina, please."

"Sarah."

Carina sighed. "Hello, Sarah. We've sort of met, obviously, but never exactly met."

"I'm pleased to exactly meet you."

Carina laughed silently and smiled. "Yes, me too."

"So, what do you want, Carina?"

"I want to talk to you about our school teacher. About Chuck. I need you to listen for a minute, please. I don't want to hem and haw, so let me just tell you what I know. I know that Chuck is in love with you. I know that you are in love with him."

"Carina…"

"Please listen. I also know that you are engaged to Daniel Shaw. I know he is an arrogant bastard. I know he is just looking for a reason, or maybe better, an _opportunity_, to ruin Chuck, or beat him, or even to kill him.

"I don't know if you know it, but Shaw threatened Chuck at The Bar None. I didn't hear all he said but his intent was plain. Shaw may be an arrogant bastard but he's no fool. He knows, even if he keeps denying it to himself, that you don't love him. And he knows that you have...feelings for Chuck. You are good, Sarah, I'll give you that: maybe you could have pulled it off, kept Shaw from realizing that you don't feel anything for him. I don't know your story - maybe it's just a native gift, but you can pretend. But not around Chuck, not for long and not very well. You're going to give yourself away, and it's going to be patent enough that Shaw won't deny it any longer. He'll make Chuck _pay_, Sarah. You and I both know how that will turn out."

Carina's color rose as she spoke. She stopped and her eyes bore into Sarah's. Sarah could not hold Carina's gaze; dropping her chin, Sarah stared at the ground. She stood like that, her head bowed, for several moments. Carina waited.

Sarah finally lifted her chin. "You love him too, don't you?"

Carina laughed ruefully. "I'm standing in a line, sister."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's just say Chuck's happiness matters to me - to a..._surprising_...degree."

"Okay, Carina, let's say that. And let's say that you are right, that you know what you know. What am I supposed to do? I'm trapped. To refuse Daniel would endanger Chuck, my Dad, our ranch, innocent shepherds, maybe even townsfolk. I am trying to keep how I feel from Daniel but I...have no experience with these feelings, with hiding something so...strong."

Carina nodded. "I understand. I even sympathize. But you need to break it off, Sarah. Pretend not for Shaw's sake, to convince him, but for Chuck's, to convince him. You need to make Chuck believe that you were shining him on. And then you need to stay away from him."

"And leave him to you?"

Carina smiled - a thin, half-hearted smile. "I won't deny that there's a part of me, a small one, that might get a degree of satisfaction from having him while you didn't, in taking what I know you want. But it is just a small part. More importantly - and more's the pity - I know it won't happen. Even if he believes you don't really care for him, he's just the sort of man who will go on caring for you. In fact, he'll probably love you even more…"

Sarah stood silent. She turned and looked out at the cemetery, at her mother's headstone.

She thought about finding Chuck beneath the tree she was now standing under, about finding him yesterday beneath the great pine, about their kisses and what they told each other.

"I can't do it, Carina. I can't pretend to Chuck that I don't care for him. My...bad angel...isn't that powerful. I will do everything I can to fool Daniel. I will not fool Chuck." _My Chuck._

Carina narrowed her eyes. "I won't claim I understand the angel bit, but I figured that was what you'd say. And I needed to hear you say it. For a lot of reasons, I guess, but mainly so I could make up my mind. Do your damndest to fool Shaw, Sarah. I'll see what I can do to help."

"How can you help, Carina?"

"Let's just say that I have been known to help...to a surprising degree."

Sarah grabbed Carina and hugged her. After an awkward moment, Carina hugged her back - a little. They rotated as they hugged and Sarah's mother's headstone came again into view.

_Thank you, Mom! _Sarah thought to herself, as she blinked away tears.

* * *

Part Two: Afternoon

* * *

By afternoon, Idaho Falls had grown cold.

The temperature dropped. The all-watching, down-staring sky turned grey and opaque, as if it had developed cataracts. Other changes had occurred beneath it.

Word of Johnny Constance had spread through the town, a contagion. Worse, somehow word of the note found on Johnny had gotten out too. At first, the result had been isolated knots of whispering folks, here and there in town. Slowly, however, like drops of water running together, the isolated knots united, grew into larger knots, larger drops. The temperature continued to drop. The whispering folks began to talk more loudly.

Chuck was standing on the street, just a short distance from Mrs. Fitzsimmons', facing toward the schoolhouse.

He had finished his talk with the sheriff and then walked to her house. When he got there, Ellie was standing in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Molly was helping Mrs. Fitzsimmons bake a cake. Chuck followed Ellie to her room when she finished telling Mrs. Fitzsimmons' about Johnny. The short version was that there had been no change.

He told Ellie about the note in Johnny's vest. She listened and stood thinking. "So, they were involved?"

"The note sounded that way. It smelled that way." He had told her of the faint fragrance still clinging to the note.

"What did the sheriff say?"

Chuck shifted his weight on his feet. "Not much. The whole thing has him rattled. His brother, Martin, stopped in while I was there - I guess after he checked on his son at Devon's?"

Ellie nodded. "He came shortly after you left. Such a big guy so...reduced by what's happened to his boy." Ellie shook her head softly.

"So, the sheriff showed Martin the note. They talked. They think maybe the spot where the men found Johnny - that that was the spot where he and Miss Reynolds...trysted."

Ellie yawned, covering her mouth. "Sorry, Chuck, I'm so tired. But, don't you find it odd that Johnny would decide to kill himself, apparently over Miss Reynolds, whatever exactly happened between them, but would go to do it without his vest or a note from her that he seemed to treat as a treasure or a talisman?"

Chuck thought about the blue ribbon in his shirt pocket. It had been with him every day since Sarah gave it to him. He wondered if Sarah had his Swedenborg; he had forgotten to ask. He assumed she did, hoped she did.

"Well, distraught people are...distraught, not thinking straight. Maybe he just...forgot?"

Ellie's answering look was unconvinced.

Chuck had left her to sleep and gone back to the kitchen. He helped Mrs. Fitzsimmons' and Molly with the cake and drank a cup of coffee. The bustle in the warm kitchen, Molly's bright eyes and frequent giggles, cheered Chuck and seemed to do the same for Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Chuck left the two of them making the icing and went to his room. He looked up at the shelf of books Miss Reynold's had left behind. He had not imagined, when Mrs. Fitzsimmons first pointed them out, how much of a part of his life Miss Reynolds would turn out to be.

He closed his door and took out his gun. He cleaned and checked it, as Nehi had taught him, preparing for whatever it was that Carina had planned for the night. After finishing, he put the gun away and sat back down in his armchair.

Had Johnny Constance killed the woman he apparently loved, killed Miss Reynolds? Why? Because she was pregnant? Was the child his? Had they had some sort of lover's spat, and had it gone wrong? Miss Reynolds' note was undated, but the fact that Johnny kept it suggested it had a special significance, suggested that perhaps it was the last such note he had gotten from her. That did not mean it had been written just before she was murdered - but it _felt _that way to Chuck. He got up and grabbed his pen and notebook. He started working on a possible timeline for Miss Reynold's final hours. It was like doing a jigsaw but not being able to see the shapes of the pieces, and not recognizing the picture they were to form. They seemed to fit together in a variety of possible ways. She had visited the railroad camp, talked to Shotgun Gert and been seen there by Monica Stutts. She had asked about an abortifacient. Apparently, she left empty-handed. She wrote a note to Johnny and perhaps met with him. She was seen talking to a man outside her window. She had a conversation later with Devon. How did it all fit together, and more, what did it mean?

He had fallen asleep in his chair puzzling over it all. He woke up almost two hours later. Now, he was standing on the street, getting ready to walk to Lou's for lunch. Molly had eaten while Chuck napped and was herself napping on Mrs. Fitzsimmons' living room couch. But there was a group of people congregated outside the schoolhouse. Chuck could see the group but not tell much about it from where he stood on the opposite end of the main street.

He walked quickly toward the schoolhouse. As he neared, he saw Mrs. Justus. She was on the top of the stairs, standing against the red doors. She was waving a bible in her hands.

"I tell you, brothers and sisters, townsfolk, I tell you that the Lord has judged this town. He has weighed Idaho Falls and found it wanting. And why? Because we are a town full of whores," she waved her bible at The Bar None, "because we let an infidel and free-thinker doctor us, we let a _liberal_ man, a _failed_ Divinity student, a _friend_ of whores, teach our children," she waved her bible at Chuck as he approached, and he felt the eyes of the crowd on him. "Our previous schoolteacher was a whore - not a professional, " she glared at the saloon, "but a whore just the same. Murder, wanton behavior, thievery, free-thinking - all around us. I tell you," her voice slowed and grew louder, more shrill, "I tell you that the Lord has _judged_ us. He made the bridge fall - a _judgment_ against us - he sent the Numbers Gang - another _judgment_ against us. He punished the whore schoolteacher and made it the case that she was buried in our ground - another _judgment_ against us. Johnny Constance, hanging himself like Judas. Another _judgment. _Mark my words, if we do not repent, change our ways...

"This school," she pointed to the red doors, at Chuck's sign, "is closed today. I say it _stays_ closed. Our children learn all they need to learn at home, studying their bibles. This man," she swung her arm around, her bible now pointing at Chuck, who had stopped at the edge of the crowd, "is teaching Shakespeare - stories of adultery and murder and revenge. _Suicide_. He's also talked to them about that foul, blasphemous book by Mr. Melville, _Moby Dick_. He invites the students to think with him about that...garbage, that...sin!"

"Enough, Mrs. Justus!" It was Sheriff Constance. "Enough. The town's on edge, and I doan need some nervy harpy a-makin' it wurse. Git down from there. Git moving folks."

There was resentful grumbling, shuffling, but the group began slowly to disperse.

Mrs. Justus marched down the steps. She stopped in front of Chuck. "I know what you are up to with my daughter. She will _never_ be back at this school. Your days are numbered in this town, Mr. Bartowski. Mark. My. Words."

Chuck stared back at her. "For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned."

Mrs. Justus opened her mouth, then closed it. She reddened and marched past the sheriff and down the street. Ruth Justus had not been in the crowd.

Chuck was worried by Mrs. Justus and her threat.

Mainly, though, he felt guilty. He had failed Ruth.

Maybe he was failing the town too.

_Ruth. _He hadn't thought of her name as a word, a word with a meaning. And it came to him, as he stood there, watching Athaliah Justus stomp away. _Webster's_: 'Ruth' meant mercy, pity, sorrow for the misery of another. The word, _Webster's_ noted, was obsolete.

_Yes, ruth seems obsolete. _

Chuck glanced up. The half-blind grey sky stared fixedly down.

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time as Chuck takes a nocturnal ride with Carina. And other stuff.

Thoughts? I'd really love to hear from you, especially if you've never commented yet or if it's been a few chapters since you have.


	17. Pillar to Post

A/N1: Night riders.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

_Pillar to Post_

* * *

Thursday, October 8, 1885  
Near Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck sat in the saddle in the gathering gloom. He was wearing his new gun belt, his old gun holstered there.

It was not fully dark but it was close - and cold, the coldest it had been yet in Chuck's time in Idaho Falls. Jenny was unenthused. She stood still and trembled. Chuck was not sure if she trembled because she was cold or she was afraid.

He trembled too. had seen no sign of Carina. But he had seen a sign.

He had stopped as he rode from town and, Lot's wife, had looked back over his shoulder. Idaho Falls had been burning, aflame, the fire intense, the flames licking the buildings - but the flames were consuming nothing. Chuck froze in the vision's face; he became a pillar, not of hardened salt but of instant sorrow. Sorrow at the town's misery. _Pour on water, pour on water!_

And then it passed and Idaho Falls sat chilled in the grey, cold evening. No fire, few lights visible.

He rode away, cursing the deep, far-away things in him, the visions, his short, quick probings at the axis of reality. He did not want the visions. He wanted to be an ordinary man.

Now, steadying himself, Chuck scanned around the road. He listened.

Nothing.

Carina told him to whistle a hymn. Chuck forgot to tell her he whistled poorly. So he started singing low and slow.

Ye careless professors who rest on your lees  
Amidst your vain pleasures, your profit and ease;  
Now God says, "Arise, and escape for your life,  
And look not behind you; remember Lot's wife."

Awake from your slumber, the warning receive;  
'Tis Jesus that warns you, the message believe:  
While dangers are pending, escape with your life,  
And look not behind you, remember Lot's wife.

But if you determine the call to refuse,  
And venture the way of destruction to choose;  
For hell you must part with the blessing of life;  
And then, if not now, you'll remember Lot's wife.

Chuck was humming the melody when he heard Carina's voice, a whisper, but a loud whisper. "God, Chuck, are you always this cheery in the dark? Maybe I am lucky you are taken - although thinking of you and a pillar of salt at the same time affects me. _Lots_, actually."

The leather of her saddle creaked as she adjusted herself in it. Chuck had cut off his hymn mid-hum. "Sorry, Carina. Just musing to music, I guess."

She was close enough that he could see her face and her puzzled look. "You're a deep old file, and a handful, Boston. Maybe you could explain how you got to that hymn - but not now. Even though we have a bit of a ride ahead of us, I don't want to discuss theology. Follow me."

She spurred her horse forward. Chuck nudged Jenny. Carina took them off the road. The clouds parted, revealing an almost full moon. The landscape shimmered silver-grey beneath it. Glancing at Carina, Chuck could see that she was wearing the men's clothes she had worn before. She noticed him looking at her. "Do I do something for you in this rig, Chuck?"

"Um...I am not sure how to answer that, Carina." They rode on a moment, then he added. "You know you are an exquisite woman, Carina, and I admire you. A lot."

She laughed at his final words. "'Funny. 'Admire', huh? Damned with not-so-faint praise, but still damned."

"Carina, I…"

"Let it go, Boston. As I said, I'm a big girl. And I don't need you to furnish me with a list of all my lovable traits, a list almost infinite. Not if the series of 'and's ends in a 'but', and it does." She was quiet for a moment. "We're _friends_. That may not be everything but it isn't nothing. You're worth having as a friend. And I hope Sarah and I are on our way to being friends too. I...chatted with her earlier today."

"She was in town?"

"Yes, came and went while you were with the sheriff. You were in there so long I thought he jailed you."

Chuck laughed nervously. "It was touch-and-go a couple of times." Despite the conversation being uncomfortable, just talking to Carina had lifted Chuck's spirits.

"Really? What have you known but not said? I've been waiting to find out."

"Well," Chuck said, drawing out the word, "I don't think I've been the lone player of that game. You could have warned me earlier about Ruth Justus. I...to be honest, I messed that up. I didn't handle it well at all. And Mrs. Justus later hinted broadly at what you warned me about - that she thinks I have been..._after_...her daughter."

Carina sighed but held her peace for a moment. "I'm sorry about that, Chuck. I knew as early as your sister's arrival in town, but I thought it might pass. For girl's her age, these things sometimes come and go like vapor. She's trying romance on for size - and I thought she might find that you pinched a little. —Although that was an unfortunate way of putting it. Anyway, it would have been best if she'd cured herself. For you to cure her meant interacting with her, and that interaction almost had to backfire. You'd either lead her on inadvertently, or you'd crush her inadvertently. I take it you crushed her."

"I fear so. Inadvertently. She had made such strides as a student. She is such a bright girl."

"Let's hope she can think about herself and her own life as well as Shakespeare. I don't know how she manages rational thought at all with Medusa for a mother."

"Mrs. Justus has snakes _in_ her head, if not _on_ it," Chuck observed.

Carina chuckled. "Yes, but like Medusa, she is a dangerous female."

"I know. I know. So I've not been the only one playing this game of withholding. How about we change the game to bartering. I'll trade you something I know but you don't, for something you know but I don't. And I mean something relevant to the situation in Idaho Falls, not - well, not other things I can imagine you telling me."

"Imagining them, are you?"

"Carina."

"Okay, Boston. As a show of good faith, and of my intentions to remain in the bounds of good taste, I'll start with the big one first: I don't work for Anna Wu. I mean, well, I sort of do, but not as you think. I'm not doing business upstairs."

"Carina, I…"

"Right, Boston, I know and that's part of the reason I...like you. I am here for work. Pinkerton's work. I am a detective."

Chuck whistled - the sound more like an aspirating teapot than music. Carina giggled. "Okay, now I know why you were singing earlier."

"Lord! I should have guessed. Your command, your self-possession, your eye for detail, your observational skills…

"So, why is a Pinkerton's detective here in Idaho Falls?"

"There's only so much I can tell you - but that's not how the game is played, right? You owe me something in return for what I told you."

Chuck was reluctant to take his turn. He wanted to know more about Carina the Detective. But he feared her questions. He meant what he said about her eye for detail, her observational skills. "Okay, ask."

"Was the Constance boy involved with the last teacher?"

"Yes. But didn't you already know that?"

Carina turned to him, her smile white in the moonlight. "I thought I'd be gentle with you…"

"So, why are you here, Carina?"

"The Number Gang. I'm here to identify them and round them up if possible?"

They rode on. "Okay, your turn again, Carina."

"Was the teacher pregnant?"

"How did you?... I mean - yes, yes, she was. Graham discovered it as he prepared her body for burial."

"Fool woman. Bad enough to let herself get involved with a _boy_ but involved...all the way…"

Chuck nodded. "I don't know the story, and we can't ask Johnny at the moment...But, it just seems strange, a woman teacher making that...mistake. I have known of _men_…"

Carina laughed, her laughter surprisingly brittle, edgy. "Don't let chivalry blind you, Chuck. Unless there's an anatomical reason, there's no villainy a man can get up to that a woman can't. Don't confuse women's lack of opportunity with their possession of virtue."

"You say that with a certain authority, Carina."

She stopped her horse and looked around for a moment, checking their location. Then she gave Chuck an inscrutable glance. She answered slowly, one word at a time. "I suppose so. Chuck, I haven't always been a detective. My dad died when I was thirteen." Carina's voice shrank.

"My mom had no way to support us, and so she...not immediately but eventually...became one of Anna Wu's girls. Not our Anna Wu, but another of the..._type_. Believe me, many women of the type are nightmares, as bad as any man would be, if not worse. I sure wouldn't want to live on the margin between villainies. Mom's Anna Wu was far worse than Anna Wu at The Bar None.

"I was with my mom for three years, and then her...boss...forced me into...the business. I worked for a couple of years, then escaped. I saw a Pinkerton's ad - they expected only male applicants, but they had used women during the war...I convinced the man, it was in Chicago, that I could go places, see things, get men to tell me things that no man could do. He hired me. I got my mom free of her Anna Wu after a while and set her up in a place in Ohio. She's still there."

Carina looked at Chuck for the first time since she started the story. "So, that's my sad story, my way of becoming an authority on women's villainy."

Chuck turned Jenny close to Carina's horse. He saw the gleam of tears on Carina's face in the moonlight. Leaning toward her, he kissed her damp cheek. "I may be a handful but you're a corker, Carina, a wonder."

She smiled as she wiped away her remaining tears. "You have no earthly idea, Boston."

Chuck laughed. "So is it my turn to tell or yours? I'm lost."

"I don't know, but I just told you some things. How about we say it's your turn."

"Fine. Go ahead."

Carina pursed her lips as if thinking hard. "Why are _you_ here, Chuck? You're a great teacher. Anthony and Faith can't stop talking about you. But why are you _here_? I don't believe that the schoolhouse was the sole attraction. There's something else, some other motive."

Chuck looked away from Carina. "That's my long story, Carina. It's connected to Molly, the little girl who arrived with my sister…"

"Wait, Chuck, you'll have to tell me later. We need to be quiet now. We're getting close…"

Chuck dropped his voice to match hers. "Close to what?"

"One of the Numbers Gang hideouts. I know this one is still in use but I don't know how often they are here. Watch me now. Say nothing."

Carina slowed her horse down even more and Chuck stopped Jenny to let Carina go ahead. He nudged Jenny and followed. They were entering a shallow valley, closely dotted with pine trees. Among them, the moonlight was shaded and the horses slowed more, picking their way.

They rode on a short distance then started uphill. As they climbed, a small building came into view. It was half-hidden behind felled pines, camouflaged. But it seemed as though the pines made the building easier to notice under the moonlight. Carina stopped and dismounted, tying her horse among several closely arranged small pines. Chuck got down and put Jenny there too Carina nodded at Chuck, then pulled her pistol. She slipped her other hand into the unbuttoned collar of her shirt and produced a shiny derringer.

He leaned close to her. "Has that been there, all along?"

She grinned through her focus. "Luckiest son-of-a-gun in the West."

Chuck shook his head and she put the short barrels of the derringer near her lips, a reminder to be quiet. They stalked slowly up the remaining slope. There were no horses in sight, no sign of fire despite the cold. Carina led Chuck in a half-circle around the building, and they crouched down among bushes not far from the building's back door. Carina pointed to the door. Then she pointed at Chuck's pistol. He came to himself suddenly, his eyes widening, as he remembered that he was wearing his gun. He pulled it out. Carina was shaking her head at him. "Handful," she whispered very softly.

She ran toward the back door and Chuck followed, Chuck imitating her low-to-the-ground run. She reached the door and leaned against it carefully, listening. Chuck tried to hold his breath even though he was panting. No sound came from the building.

Carina nodded toward the doorknob. Chuck reached out with his free hand and twisted it. It turned. Carina had her guns up at her shoulders, one on each side. She nodded again and Chuck pushed the door. It swung inward and Carina seemed to swing with it. She lowered both guns.

But nothing happened. The building was dark, cold and empty. Carina blew out a breath. "Well, it was worth a try. I'm pretty sure that it's rare for all of them to be here, if they ever are, but now and then two or three will hole up here. At least, that's how things look - hoofprints, footprints, larder, bedding, and so on."

She put her derringer back in her shirt, then fished in a pants pocket. She pulled out a box of matches and lit one of the nearly consumed candles on the central table in the building. Its flickering flame revealed two cots, the central table and three chairs in bad disrepair. Dust was heavy on the floor and especially near the fireplace, but it was much disturbed by footprints. The fireplace was fashioned with rude stones, misfit, but it looked as though it functioned. A pot hung over black, charred logs in the bottom of it.

On a couple of shelves above the fireplace were bags of flour, sugar, and coffee. All looked nearly empty.

Chuck walked to one of the cots. An old, dirty pillow was on it, and a heavy blanket wadded next to the pillow. Idly, Chuck reached out and lifted the pillow. Beneath it was a silver pocket watch and a heavy, matching chain. Recognizing it, Chuck grabbed it. It was ticking. He turned it over, face-down, and carried it to the table, angling it toward the candle flame.

_To Major John Casey  
__From the proud soldiers  
__Who served under him_

Carina was still checking the other cot.

"Hey, Carina, I found Casey's watch. I guess the Gang was here."

She gave him a dead-eyed stare and huffed. "I'm very good at this, Chuck, of course, they were here. Hey, wait, is that thing ticking?"

Chuck nodded.

"Damn, they must have been here between my visit last night and my visit tonight. That wasn't here last night, and old beaters like that need to be wound a couple of times a day. If it's here and ticking, some of them were here recently, and they are planning to come back."

"Can I take it to Casey?"

She started to shake her head when they heard the sound of a horse whinny in the distance. Carina lept to the candle and put it out with her bare fingers. "Hurry, Chuck, and hell, bring the watch. Let them wonder."

He slipped it in his pocket.

She opened the back door and gestured for Chuck to go. He did and he heard her shut the door and follow. They retraced their half-circle path, going in the other direction, down. For an odd moment, Chuck wondered if he could use the path to create a Euclidean problem for his students. They reached their horses just as three men on horseback came into view a short distance away. They were heavily armed but did not seem to be in a hurry or especially cautious. Their horses were plodding, tired.

Chuck stroked Jenny's forehead and down to her muzzle. Carina was doing the same to her horse. But Jenny snorted. The men alerted. "Get on, Chuck," Carina whispered urgently. "Ride!"

Chuck threw himself up into his saddle. Carina was already moving fast. Chuck dug his heels into Jenny and she threw herself after Carina's horse. A rifle crack and Chuck saw bark splinter on a tree just ahead of him. The moonlight was so bright now, all the clouds gone, that the countryside looked all at once bright but colorless. Chuck leaned down on Jenny between her shoulder and her crest and he whispered encouragement to her. She added speed until Chuck was riding hard on the tail of Carina's horse.

Another rifle crack. A miss but Chuck did not see the shot hit anything. He kept urging Jenny on. They left the shallow valley and began the long ride across the flat land. Trees were much more scarce. Chuck looked back. The men had gotten to the end of the valley and stopped. Their horses' heads were down. Chuck realized that their horses were too tired to effectively give chase. He gave Jenny her head and let her run on, just behind Carina. After a few minutes, Chuck looked behind and saw no sign of pursuit.

His night began with a sign and it seemed it would end with the lack of one. As he turned to face forward, he saw Carina look back at him. "Gone," he yelled. "Horses too tired!"

Carina nodded. She slowed her horse and Chuck pulled even with her. She slumped in her saddle. "Are you okay, Carina?"

She glanced at him, pain in her eyes. "No, Boston. They winged me." He saw the dark stain as she pulled back one side of her vest. "Get me to the Doc."

* * *

Chuck had to lead Carina's horse the final distance.

Luckily, no one was out and he was able to use the side street to reach the back door of Devon's office. He got off Jenny and tied her to a post.

He lifted and pulled Carina out of her saddle. She was weak but not unconscious. Holding her up against this side, he knocked. Devon was evidently not asleep because Chuck heard his voice from behind the door in a few seconds.

"Who is it?"

"Chuck, Devon, it's an emergency."

Devon opened the door.

* * *

Carina was sitting up in her bed in The Bar None, a bandage wrapped around her waist, her shirt unbuttoned at the bottom but now buttoned at the top. She had a small glass of whiskey in her hand, and she was sipping at it slowly.

Devon had just left. He had finished by reminding Carina that she needed to rest for the next two or three days. He had stitched up her side expertly. The bullet had grazed her, but deep enough to leave an open, bloody furrow. She had bled copiously due to the ride. But, although she was pale and her smile thin, she seemed lively.

Chuck had pulled a chair near the bed. "Why did you take me out there with you, Carina?"

She shrugged and looked away. "The official reason is that I wanted someone else to see them - if we got close enough to see them, and someone to help if something went wrong. I guessed I would be outgunned, though I never planned to try to take them tonight. Just get a look at them, maybe get a listen to them." She shrugged again. "We might have done it if your horse hadn't decided to get vocal. But that wasn't your fault, Boston, so don't worry about it."

Chuck looked at her. He nodded. "The unofficial reason?"

She blushed, and her paleness increased its effect. She looked at the whiskey in her glass, swirled it. "The _primary_ reason. I wanted to spend time with you. I wondered why it was _her_, Sarah, and not me - because I knew it wasn't about what was supposedly happening up here - in The Bar None. That's just not you. That wouldn't be the reason..."

Chuck shook his head decisively. "No, Carina. That wasn't it. I…"

She held up her glass, stopping him. "Don't explain, Chuck. I understand, or I think I do. You two are alike. You both dream of a normal life but neither of you has been able quite to manage one, to realize that dream. That dream's not all there is between you, I don't mean that, but it is there and it is...important. You both want a home, family, kids. But I'm a detective, Chuck, and I would go on being one with you or without you. A home, family, kids - maybe, one day, but only _maybe; _and, that day's out past the horizon if it's there at all. I wish it weren't, sometimes, but it is. I'm going to finish here and leave. You both want to stay; you both want lives here. You want to belong here, settle. I'm just passing through." She swallowed a sip of her whiskey. "You've… intuited that all along, even if you haven't ever explained it to yourself, even if it took me a while to get there myself." She gave him a regretful smile. "So, it's okay. It really is. And in a couple of days, when I'm up, I will see if I can help you two."

"How, Carina?"

"I'm almost certain that Shaw runs the Numbers Gang."

"Daniel? He's one of the riders?"

"No, Chuck. _David_. He's not a rider either, but they work for him or they are working with him. Which it is, I haven't yet figured out." She held up her whiskey as if she were making a toast. "But I've got a notion of how to find out."

* * *

A/N2: Thoughts?

Really, how about a note, some proof that you're out there, enjoying this? That's what makes it worthwhile. Drop me a line.

Thanks to Beckster1213 for heroic efforts as a pre-reader.


	18. Flies, the Quick and the Dead

A/N1: Heading into the final chapters of Book Two. (Two to go, I reckon.)

Note that the initial scene of this chapter is contemporaneous with Chuck and Carina's night ride.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

_Flies, the Quick and the Dead_

* * *

Thursday, October 8, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

The cold dark had settled on the Walker ranch.

Sarah was on her bed wearing a white flannel nightgown and seated against a pillow, a heavy, multi-colored quilt over her legs and feet. She always dreaded the Idaho winter because her feet seemed to get cold in late October and never to warm again until late April. They were cold, especially at night.

Sarah's mother had made the quilt by hand, and when she gave it to Sarah - not long before she died - she teased Sarah that it would have to keep her feet warm until she married. Sarah ran her hand around the edge of one blue square sewn into the fabric, a piece of a favorite blanket of Sarah's when she was little. She smiled sadly at the square, then turned her attention back to the Swedenborg book on her lap.

She had opened it to feel closer to Chuck, but as she read it, she had gotten fascinated. It was the work of the craziest man she had read - and the work of the sanest man she had read. The crazy and the sane did not alternate on the page, they were somehow blended, each passage perfectly crazy and perfectly sane. It made her dizzy. She still did not understand the book's significance for Chuck, although there was a sweetness in both Swedenborg's crazy and in his sane that reminded her of the man she loved.

She closed the book and put it on her nightstand. Just as she put it down, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in!"

The door opened a crack. "Miss Walker, it's John Casey. You father tol' me I could speak to you, but I won't come in if it'll make you uncomfortable."

Sarah laughed. One of the few bright spots for her on the ranch lately had been the hulking, grunting cowboy. Without ever saying so, he had made it clear that he knew of her feelings for Chuck, and she had come to understand that his 'humiliation' of Chuck at the ranch was an effort to protect Chuck, to make Chuck seem no rival to Daniel. Although she had not spent much time talking with Casey, he had two or three times sat on the porch with her in the evening, smoking his pungent cigars as they both watched the sun slowly plummet from the sky. Companionable. She was not certain why but she knew Casey was her friend.

He came in her room and stood, shuffling his feet. He noticed the book on her nightstand. "Becoming a bookworm, Miss Sarah?"

Her color rose as she smiled. "I used to be one - but Mom wanted me to replace my Homer with Beecher and Stowe's _The American Woman's Home_. Not a bad book, but I can't say I found the principles of domestic science as interesting as the siege of Troy."

Casey smiled a slow smile. "I like a good war story. Maybe I should read this here Homer?"

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, you'd like it. Chuck - Mr. Bartowski - doesn't have one, but he might have a book you'd enjoy.

Casey raised one eyebrow at the Swedenborg. "Is that book one of his?"

Sarah looked down at the quilt. "Yes."

"I'd keep it out of sight when either of the Shaws is around."

Sarah sighed. "I don't think they will be here until Saturday. That's when Dad's going to roast the lamb. He's invited quite a few folks."

Casey shuffled his feet again, obviously uncomfortable being in her room. "What's the reason for the shindig? He tol' me was gonna do it, but didn't say nothin' about why."

"The shepherds that the Numbers Gang roughed up are doing better. Dad wanted to celebrate their recovery and to try to reassure folks that the massacred sheep aren't a bad sign, to reassure folks that Walker's ranch is here to stay."

Sarah gave Casey a look. "So what do you need, Casey?"

"I wanted to talk to you 'bout the teacher," his gaze intensified, "'bout Chuck."

"What do you want to know?"

"Is he invited to the shindig?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, not that I know of. Dad never asked me and I…"

"Miss Walker, what're you going to do 'bout...all this?"

Sarah picked at a piece of lint on her quilt. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the mess you're in. You and the kid. And your father. Jack ain't told me what's goin' on a-tween him an' David Shaw - an' he gits angry if I ask - but it's obvious somethin' is. And it's obvious that sheep an' cattle - an' you - are smack in the middle of it. The men have told me a l'il 'bout the history, but...I still don't understand. I was gonna ask Jack, but he's shut up in his room wi' a bottle."

"Oh," Sarah said, closing her eyes, her head still down. She had not known her dad had done that tonight, but it was something that he had done a number of times since she set the date for her wedding. He had done it the night before he gave the sermon about Laban and Laban's daughters. Sarah should have expected it tonight, though. Her father had seemed dispirited after his visit with Roan Montgomery.

"The men say this all started over water - but there's water enough here for the flocks. I admit, it ain't easy to git to, but still…"

"I'm not sure I understand it, Casey. Men and their ego's bigger than ranches..." She looked up. "I was young still when it started, not a child but still a girl. David Shaw seemed to hate Dad from the first day they met. Shaw rode over to pay his respects. Mom and Dad had him in and drank coffee with him. He left. It was all civil but trouble started soon afterward. Dad had asked for _usufruct_ \- isn't that the legal term? - for one or two of Shaw wells." She saw Casey shrug at the legal term. "Right of use, I think, Casey. Anyway, Shaw had seemed agreeable but then turned disagreeable. He started poisoning his men against sheep, shepherds, making the old, outrageous claims about cattle not eating grass on which sheep walked, that sort of thing. They started tearing down Dad's fences. Things like that. The war started. It went on for a long time. Mom tried to act as peacemaker, to get Dad to relent, David to relent. But neither would."

Sarah gathered herself. "She had always been fragile; the war was hard on her: she had...too much on her mind. The past and the present…" Sarah shook her head. "She got sick and died suddenly. The fighting stopped for a little while, but then it got worse. A drought set in. Dad had to have water. He took me with him to Shaw's to plead for an end to it all, and for water, at least for the season. Daniel was there. I guess he took a liking to me. We hadn't seen each other much. During the range war, he was mostly away - San Francisco, I think - well out of harm's way. David Shaw rebuffed us. But the next week, he sent a polite note in which he told Dad he had 'reconsidered', and asking if Daniel could call on me." She had been staring at her quilt as she finished her tale. She looked up at Casey.

He was studying her. "So that was the Appomattox Courthouse, huh?"

"Huh?"

"Those were the terms o' peace. No more war, Jack's gits water, an' Daniel gits you."

"I suppose," Sarah agreed quietly, "but it wasn't all as...explicit as that, and I didn't understand the terms. I had an unfavorable opinion of most men and Dad had not let men call on me, so at first, having Daniel do so was...novel. He was handsome and flattered me. But it didn't take long for me to see that he was like most of the men I've known - no, worse than most. Arrogant and cruel. By that point, I dimly saw the...terms, as you call them...but I still refused Daniel when he proposed. The thought of being his..._wife_...of all that meant, made my flesh crawl. Dad braced for the war to begin again, but it didn't. Daniel went east for a time, to Boston."

Casey's eyes narrowed. "To _Boston_, to Chuck's town?"

"Yes, although I take it they never met. They seem complete strangers."

Casey nodded but slowly, thoughtfully. Sarah noticed it. "I guess it is an odd coincidence, Casey. They just seem so different to me that I can hardly imagine them sharing anything. Even when they are together here, it seems like a collision…" - she glanced at the Swedenborg - "of heavenly and hellish spirits."

"I git that," Casey half-grunted. "But still, it's an oddity, Daniel bein' there, then Chuck showin' up from there." Sarah saw Casey's hand settle on the grip of his revolver, rubbing it.

"But, Casey, to answer your first question, I don't know what I'm going to do about all of this. I talked to Carina Miller today," - Casey grunted in surprise - "and she promised to help us."

"Really? Carina is some kind o' woman, but what kind o' help can she be in all this?" Casey's brow was deeply furrowed.

"She didn't say, but for...some reason...she gave me hope."

"Were _you _in the saloon?"

"No, she met me at the cemetery."

Casey nodded. "I wonder what she's got up her skirt?"

Sarah blushed.

"Oh, Miss Walker, sorry. Just a manner o' speakin'. I wonder what she's gittin' up to?"

Sarah's blush deepened.

"Okay, Miss Walker, sorry." Casey spoke deliberately. "I wonder what her plan could be?"

"I don't know, but she strikes me as...capable," Sarah said, then seemed to hear herself as Casey raised an eyebrow again. "Oh, I don't mean _that_...or _just_ that_._" She looked down at her quilt, her face burning.

As Casey left the room, he looked back over his shoulder. "Don't give up yet. Keep stringin' Shaw along. I need to pay a visit to Miss Miller."

Sarah couldn't keep herself from laughing, although she put her hand over her mouth.

Casey grunted as he shut the door. "_Not_ what I meant."

* * *

Friday, October 9, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck woke up to knocking on his door. Mrs. Fitzsimmons. "Chuck, Chuck, Mr. Graham is here to see you. About school."

Chuck forced himself up and out of bed. He'd managed only a few hours of sleep after leaving Carina and The Bar None. He splashed poured water into the basin and splashed it on his face and upper body then washed off. The water was ice-cold, as was the room. The temperature seemed to have dropped even more. It was not winter, but it was cold. He shivered as he put on a fresh shirt, another Patel's purchase, and his pants. He finished dressing quickly then left the room. As he entered the kitchen, he caught the odor of hot coffee mixed with biscuits. Langston was standing in the kitchen, eating a biscuit, held in one hand, over a small plate, held in the other.

The word 'superessential' popped into Chuck's tired mind. It was a fairly straightforward translation of the puzzling word in the Lord's Prayer, normally translated as _daily _in 'daily bread'. The Greek, transliterated, was _epi-ousios: super-essential. _Mrs. Fitzsimmons' biscuits were the daily, the superessential, the ordinary-yet-divine manna that fed Idaho Falls. Or so it seemed to Chuck - for a moment - as he entered the kitchen.

Langston swallowed and gave Chuck a tight smile. He looked at Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. "Best I ever had, Clarel. But if you repeat that to my wife, I will call it a vile calumny."

Mrs. Fitzsimmons laughed and left the kitchen. Langston ate another bite before he put the plated biscuit remnants down on the counter. "Good morning, Chuck." He put out his hand. As Chuck shook it, the odor of almonds and wood, the odor of the mortuary, momentarily peeked into the kitchen odors.

"Good morning. I assume you are here because of Mrs. Justus, the gathering at the schoolhouse yesterday?"

"Yes, I am. She's been getting around. She spent the afternoon yesterday paying visits to like-minded townsfolk. She wants the school to close; she wants you fired. She keeps insinuating that you have been...making improper advances...toward Ruth. Given the whole situation with Johnny Constance, you can imagine how ready folks are to believe her insinuations."

"Is the situation with Johnny now public knowledge?"

Langston sighed. "It seems to be. I don't know how but word of Miss Reynolds' condition when she died has spread through the town. Johnny's attempted suicide seems both to confirm the rumor and the rumor to suggest an explanation for the attempt. Like so much gossip, the unknown somehow confirms the unknown.

"Athaliah was banging on my door at first light, and dragging Diane along behind her. She had a petition. Not lots of names - but enough, and in particular, the names of several parents of students. The petition was to close the school indefinitely, until the murder of Miss Reynolds and the story about Johnny is known. Athaliah is banking on the truth about all of that also condemning you in public opinion, especially since she's seeded the town with her insinuations. She thinks if she can get the school closed indefinitely, it will never re-open, at least not with you as the teacher."

Chuck had poured himself a cup of coffee as Langston spoke. He took a sip before responding. "So, what's the verdict?"

"I'm afraid we are going to have to yield, at least for a little while. I won't do to have you teaching a half-empty schoolhouse. But we are banking on you Chuck, Diane and I. We think the school will reopen and that you will be the teacher, the permanent teacher, of Idaho Falls."

Chuck knew his half of the money for the Boston house was in the bank now. He could live without a salary. But Graham interrupted the thought. "We were able to insist that you will continue to be paid, at least until some final decision about the future is made. I'm sorry, Chuck. We're in between a rock and a hard place here, that vile woman taking advantage of an unfortunate situation. And - know this - we don't believe a word about Ruth. In fact, yesterday afternoon, a Miss Miller, from The Bar None, stopped in my office. We chatted, the first time, she's quite something, and she mentioned noticing that Ruth Justus had a serious case of calf-love for you. And, it turns out, Bernard had mentioned the same thing to Diane a couple of days ago. So, we know what the real story is. None of this is being done because we put any stock in her insinuations."

"Thanks, but I should tell you I am to blame, in a way, for Ruth. I tried to...discourage her...and I think I wounded her feelings."

Langston smiled sympathetically. "Really no way to avoid that, Chuck. It's the nature of calf-love. The illusion breaks painfully. I remember my early days…" Langston looked away for a moment, then back. "But no need for tales of dewy-eyed Langston's discovery of the mystery of females…"

"So, what should I do with myself while all this unfolds?"

"Keep doing what you are doing."

"What do you mean?"

Langston gave him a flat look. "I know you are sleuthing about, trying to understand what happened to Miss Reynolds. Those questions in my office the other day were not idle, Chuck, I know you well enough to know that. Mark Constance is a good man, slow but brave. He's no sort of detective. He won't figure this out unless the answer literally falls into his lap. We need your sort of mind thinking about it, thinking about it...geometrically." Langston picked up his plate and started to finish his biscuit.

Chuck got one from the tray on the oven and they ate together in silence.

* * *

Chuck finished a leisurely lunch at Lou's. Ellie and Devon ate with him, although they did not linger, as he did. They went to check on Carina. Johnny's mother was sitting with him; his condition was the same.

Carina asked Devon to keep the true nature of her complaint a secret. She was perfectly happy to have folks think she was down with a 'working girl's' complaint, as Zondra had been recently. She assured Chuck it was unlikely that the Numbers Gang members they encountered would be able to identify them, especially her, since she had been dressed as a man. She needed to remain 'undercover', as she put it, for as long as possible. She allowed Chuck to let Devon and Ellie in on her secret, however. She had not yet told Chuck her plan but she promised she would tell him, and put it in action, soon.

Chuck was walking along, looking for Nehi. It had been a while since Chuck's last shooting lesson. Nehi had been in and out of town, hunting the Numbers Gang. Chuck wanted to tell him what he and Carina had found, but she told him that it wasn't yet time for Constance or Nehi to get involved. The whole point was to do more than capture the Gang. Carina wanted David Shaw too. She suspected there was more to the story than she yet knew.

As Chuck ambled along, hands in his pockets (one of them holding Sarah's ribbon), watching for his bow-legged friend, he ran into Morgan instead.

Morgan had on a green shop apron and was carrying a large box.

"Hey, Morgan!"

"Chuck! Sorry to have been missing for a couple of days, but I've sort of been running the place since...well, since _Johnny._ Mart's made me his assistant manager. Busy, busy…" He carried the box into Large Mart door, propped open with a door jamb.

Chuck followed. "So it's been going successfully?"

Morgan put the box down carefully. "Yeah, yeah. I was a bit overwhelmed by it at first. But I had a talk with Anna Wu," Chuck's eyes widened and Morgan saw it, "a talk about _business_, and she made me feel like I could do it. And I have. Mart's been happy with what I've done. He's been having trouble with his back, so even after Johnny recovers, I'll keep my current position."

"So, you've been talking to Anna Wu?"

"Don't make it a big thing of it, Chuck. Think of it as two short people bonding in a world sized for taller folks…"

Chuck laughed. Morgan could always make him laugh. "Revenge from below?"

Morgan grinned lopsidedly. "Something like that."

Again, Chuck's tired mind lurched in its own direction.

_Retribution, swift vengeance, eternal malice were in his whole aspect, and spite of all that mortal man could do, the solid white buttress of his forehead smote the ship's starboard bow, till men and timbers reeled._

Moby-Dick. The white whale. Revenge from below. Chuck's laughter stalled. _Swift vengeance. _Chuck's vengeance slow, creeping, doubtful. _The whale, Shaw. _

Chuck could not say whether he was Ahab or Ishmael.

"Chuck, Chuck?" Morgan was waving his hand in front of Chuck's face. "Where'd you go?"

Chuck rearranged his shoulders. Blinked. His eyes had dried from staring. "Sorry, just, you know…"

"Yeah, I do, one of those fits of yours. Someday you need to tell me about those, Chuck."

Of course, this was not a vision. But it had affected him like one and soured the mood Morgan had created in him a moment before. "Yes, I will. Say, dinner tonight? Mrs. Fitzsimmons is cooking and she always makes enough for an army."

"Sweet potatoes? Biscuits?"

"For a certainty."

"Count me in."

Chuck nodded and showed himself out of the store.

* * *

"Mr. Bartowski!"

Chuck had only walked a short distance from Large Mart when he heard the voice, male, from behind him. He turned to face Roan Montgomery, the lawyer. He was dressed again in an expensive suit, but not the same one as yesterday. He gave Chuck a powerful smile.

"We really didn't get introduced in the sick room yesterday, but I am eager to make your acquaintance, an acquaintance long delayed because of my lengthy absence from our fair burg. I am Roan Montgomery, attorney-at-law, and at your service." He bowed deeply from the waist, sweeping off his Western hat with its expensive wrought-silver hatband.

Chuck was unsure whether or not to bow in return. He did, a little, and Roan's smile became less formal, more amused. He stuck out his hand and Chuck shook it in relief.

"I was on my way to The Bar None for an afternoon libation. Would you join me, as my guest?"

Chuck hazarded a smirk. "Surely. But are we really going to buy drinks then pour them out as a drink-offering to the gods?"

Roan's grin became more amused. "I have been told that you are a man of words, as well as the Word, Mr. Bartowski. I am infinitely pleased to find it so." He started toward The Bar None as he spoke. "And, of course, the answer is No, unless pouring the drink into myself counts as making a drink-offering to the gods?"

Chuck shook his head. "I doubt it. No sacrifice, that. Only an indulgence."

Roan chuckled and they passed through the swinging doors. "Well, given my life, I have to hope for the gods' indulgence, otherwise I fear my eternity may be...uncomfortably warm."

Chuck shifted topics by means of the phrase. "It's been uncomfortably cold here lately."

"Yes, unseasonably cold. As I get older, I become more and more tempted to take my shingle and go permanently to California."

"To San Francisco?"

Roan gave Chuck a sharp glance. "Perhaps, although maybe south of there would be better. More seasonable."

Roan leaned against the bar and held up his hand, two fingers extended, when Jeff looked at them from the bar's opposite end.

"I understand," Roan began, his tone less supercilious, "that you have faced some...opposition in town?"

"Yes, and now they've closed the school on me."

"I saw the new sign this morning as I took my constitutional walk. Athaliah Justus, up to her father, the Devil's, work, no doubt. Amazing how easy it is to be Christian when, like the demons in _James_, you believe and tremble, but do not obey."

Chuck stared at Roan. Roan quipped: "A lawyer quoting scripture. I know, I know."

They both laughed.

Roan seemed struck by a sudden thought. "Say, are you going to the barbeque at Walker's ranch Saturday?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, didn't even know there was one."

Roan's face took on a strange look for a fleeting second, then he smiled. "Jack told me yesterday. Said I could bring someone, but I don't have any lady friends at the moment, and I doubt Jack-the-preacher would be overjoyed if I brought a lady from upstairs, especially with things in town as they are, - so why don't you come with me."

"But I wasn't invited…"

"A mere oversight, I'm sure. We can ride out together?'

Chuck knew it was a bad idea. "Yes, that would be good. Do you think I could bring my sister with me?"

"Ah, Ellie? The lovely brunette who is always at Dr. Woodcomb's side. A pity. But yes, that would be fine. It will be an ample feast, ample."

Jeff put two shot glasses on the counter. Chuck rarely, if ever, drank whiskey, but he clinked the heavy glass with Roan's and they both gulped down the amber liquid. It burned like acid. Chuck's eyes watered, and he coughed.

Roan chuckled. "A man of words, but not of whiskey, I see."

Chuck nodded, tears in his eyes, still coughing.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a fine affair.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons had outdone herself. Roast beef, potatoes, green beans, biscuits (of course). Coffee and lemonade. A chocolate cake so darkly and richly chocolate that it seemed an edible and delicious hole in the Fabric of Things. Chuck was forking his final bite as he paused to look around the table.

Ellie was wiping Molly's face. The little girl had chocolate almost to her eyebrows. They were smiling at each other. Morgan was chatting with Mark Constance about Large Mart supplying new beds for the jail cells. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was gazing, absently but longingly, at the sheriff. Nehi was tucking into a second mighty piece of the cake.

The evening had been filled with good food, friends, family, and superabundant laughter.

Home. Chuck felt like he was home. At home, in Idaho Falls. Almost.

Almost at home. Looking at Molly's smile made him think of Jill. Thinking of Jill made him think of Shaw.

Chuck was as at-home as he could be - until Sarah was at the table - until Chuck killed Shaw.

_The fly in the ointment._ Chuck's brain coughed up another passage. Old Testament, like Melville. _Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savor_.

Chuck's fly was alive, not dead. But his savor stank.

It was time to do something about it.

Saturday. The barbeque.

It was time.

* * *

A/N2: Fun talk. Barbeque next time.


	19. Spit, Turn, Turn

A/N1: I smell smoke. Book Two is reaching its end.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER NINETEEN:

_Spit, Turn, Turn_

* * *

Saturday, October 10, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck had trouble sleeping after Friday supper.

He was tired, tired everywhere. Bone-achy from the ride with Carina, headachy from visions and conversations, heart-achy from worry about Sarah, his students, the whole mess in Idaho Falls.

On top of all that, Mrs. Fitzsimmons' amazing chocolate cake had become a fire-heated brick in Chuck's abdomen, burning his stomach. Stomach-achy, too.

He got up at the first febrile light of dawn and dressed. He hoped a walk would ease his tensions, spur his digestion, calm his mind, balm his heart. A little. Maybe.

He went out around the town, circling it much as he had in his early days there, as he acclimated. He forced himself into his eyes and feet, attending to what he saw and the earth beneath his feet. It was still cold, and as the sun came up, the effect of the cold on the hardwood trees showed. As the yellow light touched them, they revealed themselves aflame, burning yellow and red and brown.

But it was no vision, it was the fall.

Chuck was walking near the back of The Bar None when he saw her again. The blonde rider. She was creeping toward the backdoor of The Bar None. _Sarah! _Chuck resisted the urge to say her name aloud. Instead, he waited for her to climb the backstairs and enter the door atop them. When she did, Chuck followed, ascending the steps carefully and praying the door was open.

_Maybe I don't want to know…_

The door was open. He turned the knob and entered the end of the 'working' hallway. (Morgan's room was on the other end of the upstairs.) He tiptoed along it until he came to a door. It was Zondra's, and it was open a crack.

Chuck peeked through. He saw the rider standing in front of the dresser, looking into the mirror, although her body blocked Chuck's view of her reflection. She took off her black hat.

_Sarah must have gotten another. I still have the one she left hanging my room. _

Her long blonde hair fell loose, lovely. And then she took off her hair.

It was Zondra.

Chuck stepped into the room and closed the door quietly, the only sound the click of the latch. Zondra whirled to face him. "Mr. Bartowski! Chuck!" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Her carpet bag was on the bed, still fastened. The wig was on the dresser, just dropped there, a boutique scalp. _Bad image, Chuck. _

"What are you doing here?" Zondra's features had gone from shock to anger. "You shouldn't be up here, unless…" - Zondra's eyes took on a wicked gleam - "unless you want an early morning ride - on me." She saw Chuck wince and the gleam in her eyes infused the smile beneath them. "Didn't think so." Her tone moderated. "Why are you here? It's Saturday, not a school day in the best of times, and this ain't the best of times in Idaho Falls."

Chuck dropped his hands. He had them up defensively, in a placating gesture. "I thought you were someone else."

"Oh?" Zondra's surprise was real but not total. "You thought I was...her."

"Who?" Chuck asked, himself a mirror of her feinting.

"That other blonde rider. I don't know who she is - or even if she really _is_ \- but I have heard talk now and then. Men who claim they've seen her and the black demon she rides."

Chuck stepped closer to Zondra. "Why are you dressed like that? Why the wig? What's going on Zondra?"

She looked at him. She seemed to be making quick calculations. "You've been kind to me and very kind to Anthony, and this does...sort of...involve you. But you have to promise not to say anything, not to cause trouble. This could end up hurting me or even Anthony."

Chuck considered her words then nodded.

"Every so often I go out to the Shaw's ranch. I go after dark. He makes sure that no one is watching the back of the house. I sneak in and I...sleep with him."

Chuck felt his blood in his veins, hot, burning. "Daniel."

"No, David."

"David?" Chuck could hear the astonishment in his own voice, the shock.

She nodded. "It's been going on for a while."

Chuck gave his head a small shake, trying to bring the situation into focus. "David? He..._pays_ you?"

"Well, I don't give it away, usually. Yes, he pays, a lot. It's...how I was able to offer to pay you for Anthony's extra tutoring. And it's...um...light work. Once, always quick. Sometimes not even once. After, he wants to hold me...and talk. I leave while it is still dark. No one knows, not even Daniel."

Chuck tried to keep his imagination from spawning pictures. "David?"

"Yes," she nodded emphatically. "I should know, Chuck."

He felt silly, thick-headed. He hadn't meant to argue. "Of course. I wasn't doubting you - just my own reason." He turned from her and the wig, blinking, still feeling disoriented, but the wig heaped on the dresser intensified it. He turned back to her. "I thought he was _sick_?"

"He is, but it's...a slow thing. Up and down. He won't tell me much about it. He can still..._you know_...most of the time."

Chuck put his hand over his eyes and drug it down over this face, his chin. "What does he talk to you about?"

She looked down. This part of it seemed to embarrass her. "Nothing, not really. He just holds me and mutters things to me. Apologies. Over and over" Her face pinched as she looked. "He doesn't even use my right name." She dropped her head again.

Chuck felt a rush of compassion. He spoke softly. "Really? Why?"

She shrugged, still not looking at him. "I don't know. He won't let me use my own name either, or he won't pay. When I am in his bed, in his bedroom, my name is _Emma_."

Chuck flashed on Sarah's mother's headstone.

_Emma Walker, Wife and Mother_

And Devon's words came back to him. Sarah was supposed to look just like her mother. Spit and image. Blonde, tall, beautiful.

The wig.

Zondra as Emma. Emma Walker - Zondra Emma's _doppelgänger_.

Chuck trembled, reached out, grabbed one of Zondra's bedposts, steadying himself.

_What does this mean? _

"How am I involved?"

Zondra fell into memory and Chuck saw her become angry. "Sometimes, after I've washed and dressed, he will talk to me as _me, _more or less - not by my name but I can tell he's at least not talking to her anymore. He screws her. He whispers to her. But sometimes he talks different - just before I go. Like a spell lifts or I wash her away. He asked about you, if you ever came upstairs, ever...came to me…"

"What? My God, why would he ask you that?"

Her eyes widened. "I don't know, Chuck. I told him no. But he asked again last night, the same thing. I told him no again."

Chuck let go of the bedpost. He ran his hand down his face again. "I don't understand…"

Zondra shrugged. "I don't either; he's nutty. But walk-around nutty, the kind that doesn't show."

Chuck's mind was starting to unfreeze. "Does Carina know about this?"

Zondra nodded. "I've been trying to help her, hoping he would say something about the Numbers Gang. I know she told you who she is.

"You see, Pinkerton's is paying me too, now. It was just dumb luck that I was here and already...working for David. Carina found out - and so I've been sort of playing detective. But I haven't found anything about the Gang. I'm never allowed to leave David's room and he's never said anything about them."

"Does he mention Daniel?"

"A few times, always the same thing: 'My son inherits it all.' The way he says it gives me the willies."

Chuck sat down on the bed. The door opened and Carina came in, limping. She closed the door. "Boston, what am I going to do with you?"

Zondra opened her mouth but Carina waved at her. "It's okay. I heard it all from the hallway. Look, Boston, keep this to yourself - at least for now. I need a few more days to get my plan underway."

"But…"

"No 'but's this time. Listen to me and do as I say, please. A lot hangs on this. Zondra's as close to someone on the inside as I have managed. I don't want to risk her access to David, not yet. So you can't tell anyone about this. _Anyone. _Do you understand?"

Chuck started to protest but closed his mouth. He couldn't tell Sarah until he knew what it meant. He finally nodded.

Carina sighed. "Good. I'm sorry, Chuck, but…" Carina shrugged.

"I know."

Zondra looked at the clock ticking on her dresser, just beside the blonde wig. "He better get out of her. Anna Wu'll make rounds soon."

"Go, Chuck. Hold on a little longer."

He opened the door Carina had shut and went to the back door. He looked back. Carina was watching him go. She gave him a smirk that became a wistful smile, and he went out to the stairs. The sun was up but Chuck was lost in his thoughts - in Carina's request and in Zondra's revelations. He studied the stairs as he went down, down step by step by step.

He took the last step onto the ground and heard a sound, a voice, a questioning hum. He glanced up. Athaliah Justus stood just in front of him, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowed. Chuck looked back up the stairs then back to Mrs. Justus. Her face had shifted - from spite to glory: the cat that ate the canary. She made a triumphant sound and walked away, her head high, her cadence regular, satisfied.

"Shit," Chuck whispered to no one.

* * *

Chuck holed up in his room for much of the rest of the day. His stomach ache had returned; his headache too.

He sat in his armchair and stared at the floor. His head was full of blondes, real and fake: Rena Shaw, Emma Walker, Sarah Walker, Zondra Rizzo. All were connected to the Shaws, to David or Daniel.

And then there was Ida Reynolds and Jill, the brunettes. Chuck was sure of Daniel Shaw's connection to Jill, and, despite all that had happened with Johnny Constance, he still felt that Shaw was connected to Ida, that it had been Shaw outside her window that night. He had no vision concerning that, but the feeling was so strong.

He puzzled for a long time over the blondes and brunettes. And for a little while over the redhead, Carina. He did admire her; he trusted her to help him and Sarah. But he felt some of the same slight guilt and unease that he also felt with Ruth Justus and with Jill Roberts. He, Chuck Bartowski of all men, had moved their hearts. And he loved or had loved each of them, Carina as a friend, Ruth as a student, Jill as a friend. But none of them had moved his heart in symmetry with his moving of theirs. He hated hurting anyone.

Of course, with Ruth, that was unthinkable. He had never and would not see her that way - as a woman. But of course, that was why he especially wounded her, because that is what she most wanted from him.

He saw Carina and Jill as women but never as potential partners. Not because of their pasts or presents, but because _he was he_ and _they were they_.

Carina had hinted at something Chuck believed: you love _a person _\- an unreproducible singularity, not a reproducible conjunction of features. From the moment Sarah had handed him her ribbon, he had been wrapped up in her, bound by her particularity, that lovely, demure and daring, soft and fiery woman. The adjectives were not exhaustive, and each was inflected in Sarah-ish-ly. She was lovely, demure and daring, soft and fiery, all Sarah-ly. No one else could be her.

And that singular woman was going to marry Daniel Shaw, hellspawn. It had to be stopped. The past, Jill, cried out for vengeance, and the future, Sarah, cried out for deliverance. He had to do something. He could shoot now, draw his gun. He was not as fast as Shaw, almost certainly, but maybe he would shoot straighter because justice was on his side, even if mercy wasn't.

As if that weren't enough, Athaliah Justus had seen him leaving the upstairs of The Bar None. By tomorrow - by church time - that misunderstanding was going to be buzzing along the streets of the town and the seats of the schoolhouse. He may have put Langston and Diane in a hopeless position; it was unclear if they could resist her and her petition.

His head throbbed. Nausea rolled through him uneven waves.

Desperate, he got his gun and cleaned it, loaded it. He rubbed leather dressing into his gun belt. He stood up and put the gunbelt on. He adjusted it and tied the holster to his right leg. He was standing, testing the feel of it all, when his door opened and his sister stood in front of him, in the very spot where he had been envisioning Daniel Shaw.

"Chuck, what the hell…"

He just stood there.

"I came to tell you Devon just asked me to go to the barbeque with him and I accepted, so I won't be going with you and Mr. Montgomery..." Her eyes had fasted to the gun and never left it as she spoke. "...And I want to know what _in God's name do you_ think you are doing, Charles Irving Bartowski." He hadn't heard her take that tone with him in years - not since he was small.

He felt small again standing there.

"Um, I was, um, _practicing_…"

"Tell me it's for a play, some theatrical you and your students are doing. Tell me you are not practicing for real."

He stood wilting in her green eyes. "It's the West, Ellie, a man's gotta be…"

Her eyes flashed. "If you finish that with '...a man', I am going to kick you in the gun God gave you."

"Ellie!"

"Chuck!"

Molly ran into the room, standing behind Ellie but looking around her at Chuck.

"Hi, Chuck. Are you pretending to be a bad man?"

Ellie gave him a significant look. "Well, Chuck, answer Molly's question."

"No, Molly, I'm not pretending to be a bad man."

Her eyes grew puzzled. "So you _are_ a bad man?"

"No, I'm not pretending...I'm not a bad…" He stood silent and looked at the two, the grown woman and the little woman, his family. He unbuckled the gun belt and took it to his closet, putting it up on the high shelf inside it, and giving it a shove, so that Molly could not possibly reach it, not even if she stood on his chair.

Ellie watched him closely. When he closed the closet, she squatted down to face Molly. "Never, ever go near a gun, Molly, do you hear me?"

Molly nodded hard. "Chuck will never go near one again either," she rotated her head to glance at Chuck, "so don't you worry."

"Did you hear me - about Devon, the barbeque?"

Chuck nodded.

"And I will see you there - without _accoutrements_?"

Chuck exhaled. "Right. Without."

Ellie took Molly's hand and led her out of Chuck's room. She gave him one last warning look. She closed the door.

Chuck stood beside his bed and then sat down on it. He leaned back, leaving his feet on the ground but stretching himself out otherwise.

His life was ringed about by women, blonde-haired, brown-haired, red-haired, tall, medium and short. Some loved him, some hated him.

He fell asleep as the women rotated in his head like an assemblage of furies.

* * *

Chuck woke up with just a few minutes to spare before he was to meet Roan Montgomery.

He stepped out of his room. Ellie had left with Devon. A note on the kitchen table told Chuck that Molly had gone with Mrs. Fitzsimmons to pay visits with friends.

He went back to his room and started to get ready. He had told Ellie he would not wear the gun; he would keep his word. He decided - for reasons not entirely clear to him - to put on his Boston clothes. Once they were on, he gathered his things, picked up the black bowler that matched the coat, vest, and pants, and put it on his head.

He left Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. He saw Roan Montgomery seated in a carriage in front of his office, waiting on him. He was in yet another expensive suit, this time wearing a bolo tie.

"Hello, Chuck, are you ready for roasted lamb and interesting company?"

Chuck had a return of his conviction from yesterday: this was a bad idea. He should not go. Especially now that he had no gun. He was unsure what he had planned to do with it had he worn it, but he was doubly unsure about going now.

He hesitated beside the carriage. Roan gave him a frank glance. "Courage failing you, my boy?"

"What do you mean, Roan?"

"I have gathered that you and Miss Walker's fiancée do not see eye to eye - and I know he will be there this evening."

"I assumed so."

Roan waited. After a moment, Chuck climbed up into the carriage.

Roan laughed. "You look like a school teacher today, I have to say. Nice hat. Is that your typical outfit for wooing?"

Chuck jerked as Roan shook the reins and the carriage moved forward. He looked at Roan. "Did you really just say 'wooing'?"

"I did. Language is a woman - at least when a man who loves it speaks. She wants to dance and spin, to make music. She can be wooed with 'woo', Chuck." He gave Chuck another look. "If a man does not handicap himself with an outfit Langston Graham would not bury someone in. Although I am almost certain Langston would refuse to embalm that bowler. Arsenic wasted."

Chuck reached up and took off his hat. He put it in his lap. "I'm not going to woo Miss Walker."

Roan did not respond for a minute. "You are ceding her to Daniel?"

"Ceding?"

"You are a man of words, are you not?"

"I know what it means - but it is not the right word. You must know the realities here, in Idaho Falls. And frankly, the situation has gotten worse. As of today. But you are Jack Walker's lawyer, aren't you?"

"I am his lawyer. And, I have a grasp of the realities - as you call them. I have had a grasp on the realities of this town for a long time. I understand why you might feel...hemmed in, defeated. But we live in a cosmos of contingencies, my lad - eternity is a child playing checkers"

"What's that mean, Roan?"

"Nothing is fated, Chuck. Even when things look bad, the board can change suddenly, the pieces can be rearranged."

Chuck's head was still throbbing. Roan's talk, though perhaps kindly meant, wasn't helping.

* * *

The ranch was all aglow.

A central fire burned, and above the fire, on a thick spit, was a lamb. The spit was being turned slowly by an older man Chuck had never met. Lanterns hung all around, on porch posts and fence posts. A fiddler was tuning his fiddle. Children were running all around, excited by the prospect of the party.

Roan and Chuck got out of the carriage. After a glance at Roan, Chuck put his bowler hat on and pulled it down tight on his head. He heard Roan laugh. A hand came to take the carriage and Jack Walker was not far behind him. He shook Roan's hand heartily, welcoming him, then did the same to Chuck.

Chuck glanced over Jack's shoulder and saw her. Sarah. He had not seen her since she had ridden away on Whirlwind, all in black. After she told him she loved him and he told her the same. Now, she was standing in the twilight and the glow of the lanterns, lit up, suffused. She glowed as Chuck looked at her, glowed with an uncreated light, blindingly beautiful. He heard music again, woodwinds.

And then the vision passed, _it was a vision, _but she remained aglow with her own light, her smile. She was in a long blue dress the same color as the ribbon wound in Chuck's pocket, wound around his heart. But her hair was down and loose, shining. He realized that the ribbon he had was almost certainly meant to be part of her outfit, and he took it to be a message to him that she had worn it, her hair down. He smiled at her quickly but made himself look away. Daniel Shaw was stalking towards them.

Chuck realized that Daniel had been talking to Lester Patel and his wife. They were seated on the porch. Daniel sneered at Chuck while still behind Sarah, then put his arm around her and led her away. He looked back over his shoulder as they left, his eyes filled with hatred. It was the second time that had happened.

Jack and Roan fell into conversation. Chuck saw Ellie and Devon standing near the central fire and he walked over to them. There had been a development: they were holding hands. Ellie blushed and looked away when Chuck noticed. Devon's smile rivaled the fire a source of warmth and light.

"Chuck," Devon boomed, then lowered his voice, "hello! Sorry I couldn't come to dinner last night. Mirabelle was exhausted and Mart's down in his back, so stayed with Johnny. Glad to see you tonight, though. Where's your little buddy?"

"Morgan?"

Devon nodded.

"I guess Mart's back trouble has Morgan working extra hours."

"Nehi's here, somewhere," Devon added.

"Okay." Ellie had turned to face Chuck again. He couldn't help himself. "Good of you, Ellie, keeping the doctor's skilled hands warm on this chilly evening."

"Good of you to leave the...hardware at home, Wyatt," she smirked in response.

Devon looked from one to the other, not quite sure what was going on. Chuck leaned in and whispered in his sister's ear. "He's a fine man, Ellie."

"I know," she whispered in return. She stepped back so Devon could hear her next words. "Devon has asked to court me and I have agreed."

Devon's face shone but then he frowned. "Say, Chuck, should I have talked to you first?"

Ellie punched Devon in the shoulder. As he rubbed the spot, Chuck laughed: "I think that's your answer, Devon."

More people had arrived, some from town, many from the ranch and from other farms outside of town. Some folks Chuck knew, many he did not. He was relieved that Athaliah Justus was not there. Thinking of her, and of Sarah with Shaw, sank Chuck's spirits, and so he left Devon and Ellie to their happiness and wandered around the main house.

The fiddle had started playing, dancing had commenced. Chuck was glad the house was between him and the dancers. Sarah and Shaw would likely be among them, his hands on her and - she would pretend to like it.

Chuck noticed that the back door was standing open, lights on inside. He walked in. Several people were bustling about, preparing food, but no one took any notice of him. He walked from the kitchen into the dining room, with its plain but lovely furniture. He let himself just wander along. For the first time in hours, the pain in his head had receded. He found himself in a short hallway. The first door was open. He looked in and knew it was Sarah's room. A beautiful, many-colored quilt was on the bed. He glanced around - he was still alone.

He walked into the room. Her scent permeated it and it broke his heart. Her dresser had an ornate comb and brush on it, a vase with a few wildflowers, and was topped by a small mirror. Chuck saw himself in it, in her room in his black Boston clothes and bowler hat. He made a face at himself. He crossed to the far side of the bed. On her nightstand was a photograph. It was her mother, Emma.

Sarah did look remarkably like her. The features were much the same, the coloring, so far as the photograph revealed it. But there was a difference: the warmth and vulnerability that sometimes showed through in Sarah seemed on permanent display in Emma's face, and there was an openness in her eyes that he had only been allowed to see in Sarah's that night in his room and on the overlook. Almost all the other times he had seen her, she had been pretending, either to know less about him than she did - at their earliest meetings - or to care less about him than she did - at their meetings with Shaw present. She had mentioned pretending to him that night in his room - what had she been trying to say?

He looked down at the photograph again, as if he could ask it a question visually. _Why would David Shaw pay Zondra to sleep with him in a blonde wig, answering to your name? _The frankness of the question struck Chuck, and he blushed at the very thought of asking Emma such a thing.

"She was very beautiful, like her daughter."

Chuck spun around to see Jack Walker standing in the door. Chuck started to apologize but Jack walked in and put out an open hand, nodding at the photograph. Chuck handed it to him.

"I miss her, Chuck. I was never even remotely worthy of her, and she condescended to choose me, somehow loved me and kept loving me through years of mistakes and disappointments. Just when I thought our lives might finally become what she wanted, she died. I fear I haven't done much better by my daughter than I did my wife. Worse, maybe." Chuck could smell whiskey, and he noticed that Jack was swaying. He was not drunk but he was on the outskirts of it - and headed toward the center of town.

Jack placed the photograph carefully on the bed. He looked up at Chuck with an imprecatory gaze. "You love her, don't you, son?' He kept his eyes locked on Chuck.

Chuck's day was catching up to him. What was he supposed to say? Why was Jack asking?

"Yes, Mr. Walker, I love your daughter."

Jack closed his eyes and swayed for a minute. He opened them. "I'm very sorry, Chuck. I'm very sorry for both of you. I have a gift for creating unhappiness. If it were just my own, I'd call it justice, but it seems to spill onto everyone I care about too." He shook his head.

"How can you do it? How can you let her marry Daniel Shaw, become part of that family?"

Jack nodded. "I know. He's not worthy of her. He won't make her happy, but...I'm stuck."

"But, with all due respect, why? Is it about water? I heard that was a problem."

"It's a problem but no, that's not it."

"The lost payrolls?"

Jack looked closely at Chuck. "No, that's a problem too, but not the problem."

Silence settled on them and Chuck saw Jack steady himself. "C'mon, Chuck, we should rejoin the party." He turned to leave.

"Mr. Walker, did your wife, did Emma, know David Shaw?" Jack stopped. He did not turn around. "Yes, they knew each other. He was at our house a few times and _vice versa_. During the bad years, Emma visited there a couple of times, trying to make peace." Jack walked out of Sarah's room and finally looked back at Chuck. "Are you coming?"

Chuck followed. Together, they joined the party.

* * *

Chuck was standing off to the side of the dancers, a wall-less wallflower, trying to watch Ellie and Devon, and not Sarah and Daniel.

He had not been successful. Daniel made a point of allowing his hands to wander on Sarah. She kept moving them back, but he pressed the advantage, and for Chuck's sake. At one point, between dances, when they had been standing right in front of Chuck, Shaw put his hand on Sarah's bottom. She knocked it away immediately but gave him a coquettish smile afterward. When she looked away, Shaw smirked at Chuck.

The turning of the lamb on the spit, the reeling of the dancers, the accumulating blows of the day, - Chuck was reeling too, dizzy. Turn, turn, turn. Sarah and Shaw. Turn, turn, turn.

Chuck forced himself to look elsewhere. He had noticed earlier that Shaw's buddy was there, the man from The Bar None. The man had eyes for a short, plump, smiling young woman with strawberry-blonde curls. Roan had told Chuck that she lived with her family at a nearby farm. She was past school age but still young. She had given Shaw's friend the bulk of her dances, but she had danced with others. The man did not like it, and he sulked more each time she danced with another man.

As Chuck stood watching, he realized, his heart falling, that the young woman was heading toward him. Before he could brace himself, she was in front of him. Her cheeks were rosy and she was still glowing from the dance that had just concluded. She gave him a winning, playful smile. "Hi! I'm Andi. You're the new teacher, ain't ya? The Boston gent?"

Chuck took off his hat and bowed with more than a hint of irony. "Yes."

"I know it's kinda forward an' all, but would ya dance a dance w' me? I ain't never danced…" she let her eyes climb Chuck's length, "...with a feller so tall or so..._exotic_." She made a cute face. "'Exotic', I looked that up once in a diction'ry. Did I use it right?" She grinned. Chuck could not help himself; he grinned back. "I suppose you did. Um, and yes, I would be pleased to dance with you."

She put out a pink hand and he took it. They joined the turning dancers. Chuck ignored his awkwardness and gave himself over to the music and to Andi's smile. As they danced, Chuck caught a glimpse of Sarah. She had stolen a glance at him and she was frowning. Chuck spun, and then caught a glimpse of Shaw's friend. He was glaring at Chuck.

The dance ended and Andi pressed Chuck for another. He yielded. The movement and music had taken him out of his thoughts. Andi was a good dancer and her smile was infectious. They danced again.

When the dance ended, Andi pressed him yet again, but Chuck politely refused, telling her that it would be unfair for him to claim more of her dances when obviously others were hoping to dance with her. She took the compliment but still seemed disappointed. When Chuck last saw her, she was seated. Shaw's friend was asking her to dance and she was shaking her head, looking at Chuck as she did.

After another hour or so, Roan found Chuck. "Well, Chuck, I have eaten, drank, and made merry. Tomorrow, I may die. But tonight, tonight I am a happy man. Let's away, shall we? It will be late when we get back to town."

The carriage was brought round. Chuck and Roan climbed up into it. Chuck looked back toward the fire. Sarah was standing alone, gazing at him. Daniel was nowhere in sight.

Chuck tipped his cap and Roan shook the reins.

Chuck had gone to the barbeque.

It had been time.

And he had done nothing. Again.

Except admire a picture of Sarah's mom. And dance with a cute farmgirl.

He fell into a scalding fury of self-reproach, lashing himself with Hamlet's words, making them his own.

But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall  
To make oppression bitter, or ere this  
I should ha' fatted all the region kites  
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!  
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

O, vengeance!

Roan seemed lost in his thoughts. They rode without talking.

* * *

Riding along in the dark, they heard the sound of a horse racing behind them. Roan slowed the carriage.

The horse rushed up from behind them, then was pulled to a stop. It was hard to see in the dark, and the man on the horse was in a black coat and hat, dark pants. His face was covered by a bandana.

He had a gun out, aimed at Chuck.

"Git down offa there."

Chuck climbed down. The man then turned the gun on Roan. "Now you - git outta here."

Roan looked at Chuck. Chuck nodded.

"Go on, or ya won't live to see the sunrise."

Roan frowned but started the carriage forward.

As it disappeared, the man turned back to Chuck, gun on him. "Now, start walkin'."

Chuck walked for a long time. The night was bright enough for him to keep from stumbling much, but the walk was slow. At one point, they reached a gate in a fence, and Chuck had to open it for them to pass through and close it again when they had.

They trudged on. Chuck had reached into his jacket pocket for Sarah's ribbon and he had it in his hand.

The ground began to rise, gradually becoming steep. Finally, they reached a kind of plateau. The man marched Chuck forward until he was looking over a steep cliff.

"Devil's Point." The first words the man had spoken since Roan rode away. Chuck knew the name. The Walker's sheep had been killed here, driven over the edge.

Chuck had been on the edge all day, it seemed, on the edge and reeling.

"Jump." The command was categorical, flat.

Chuck turned and looked at the rider. "No."

"Then I'll shoot you and you'll fall, anyway."

Chuck squared himself on his feet, facing the man. "Then shoot me, because I refuse to jump."

The man chuckled, raised his gun and a shot burst the silent night.

* * *

When Chuck opened his eyes, the man fell, from horse to ground, the action stretched out, out, taking impossibly long.

When the man hit the ground, it was obvious he was dead. The bandana fell off his face. It was Shaw's friend, eyes open, sightless.

A moment later, Chuck heard footfalls, hoofbeats. "Kid, git away from th' cliff. I ain't havin' ya make all this work for nothin'."

John Casey, rifle in one hand, his horse's reins in the other. "Nice o' this asshole to sit hisself 'gainst the moon. Almost made the shot too easy."

Chuck stepped away from the cliff; he shook his head. Too much. The day had been too much.

_Shock. _He put his hand in his vest pocket, speaking without thinking. "Hey, Casey, I found your watch."

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time as Book Two ends, Chapter Twenty "Checkers".

How about a thought, reaction, anything? Drop me a review or PM, please.

\- _Zettel Grey_


	20. Checkers

A/N1: Book Two ends. But our chapter begins with the barbeque - this time from Sarah's POV. Chuck, occupied and pre-occupied as he was, missed some things.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells Are Everywhere**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY:

_Checkers_

* * *

Saturday, October 10, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Sarah stood in her room, huffing at herself. She was examining her reflection in her dresser mirror.

She had put on her best dress, a sky blue dress with a long skirt, the top snug around her body. She had just finished buttoning the small blue buttons along the front, it took time but it was worth it, the blue of the buttons somehow distributing the blue of her eyes.

She was huffing in indecision. She had been told by Roan Montgomery's assistant - he came to the house that morning with papers for her father - that Roan had asked Chuck to come to the barbeque with him. That had not been expected, and it terrified and thrilled Sarah in equal measure. She had not planned on wearing her best dress, and she surely would not have worn it for Daniel Shaw.

But she wanted to wear it for Chuck. She wanted to see him see her in it.

To do that, though, she would have to wear it for Daniel. Not for him in the way she wanted to wear it _for_ Chuck, but Daniel would think she had worn it _for_ him. To dress for Cuck was to dress for Shaw.

She couldn't do it.

She put her hands on the neck of the dress, on the topmost blue buttons, and then she imagined Chuck's face, and she dropped her hands to her side.

She stood there, her indecision returning. She so wanted Chuck to see it. She ran her hands into her hair, frustrated. She remembered the ribbon she wore with the dress was the one she had worn the first day she talked to Chuck, the day she gave it to him. In fact, she had bought it especially for that dress. The ribbon's color exactly matched the dress.

She did not know if Chuck had kept the ribbon but she hoped he had, that it was to him what the Swedenborg was to her. Of course, she had taken Chuck's book. He had been given the ribbon. She huffed again - at that. It felt like a ripple from her past, her days conning with her father. Taking.

She had learned better from her mother. Giving. Sarah had so much to give - to give to Chuck, so much she wanted to tell him, share with him - but it was hard for her. Her father's lessons to her were about taking, pretending, guile. Her mother's were about giving, genuineness, guilelessness. But from the moment Sarah saw Chuck asleep beneath the tree - and reached out to touch him, she had felt more like her mother's daughter than ever before. She could give herself to Chuck, genuinely, and put guile behind her.

But, instead, she would spend the evening with Daniel, all guile, not giving, fake. And Chuck would get to watch her do it - again.

"Oh, Darlin'," she heard her dad say as he looked into her room at her from the hallway, "you look like the Idaho sky on a cloudless spring morning." 'Darlin'' - his pet name for her from as far back as she could remember. She pirouetted for her father and he smiled, but remorse tugged at the smile's corners. He walked into the room and took her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Sarah. The sins of the fathers…"

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "...Were also the sins of the daughters." She sighed. "I knew, those last few years, Dad, knew what we were doing. I did it anyway."

He took her chin in his hand. "You believe that, and in a backward way, it's to your credit, Darlin'. Anyone else would be coughing up excuses left and right. But you've always been too quick to blame yourself, like Emma. You never had the sort of choice you fancy you did. Your four-flusher father taught you the jiggery-pokery…" he smiled again, openly sad, "when you were too little to know better. By the time you did know better, I'd hardened you by habit. And, if there's one thing a confidence artist knows - a good one - its that the real boosters of what folks do are their habits, not their beliefs. That's why the best con…"

"...Is the long con," Sarah offered, finishing her father's line.

His sad smile melted into a full frown. "And you just proved my point. Lighten up on yourself, Sarah, forgive yourself. Blame me. Blame me now. I should have killed David Shaw long ago, man to man, and ended his long siege of this ranch."

Sarah blinked back tears. "Like the siege of Troy…"

He hugged her again. "Yes, Darlin', something like that. Something goddamn Homeric."

He kissed her forehead, turned, and left the room.

Sarah turned back to her mirror, wiping her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror as if she were a stranger and spoke to herself softly. "He's wrong. Maybe you are not to blame for all you did, but there's enough left over for this punishment."

_The Shaws are the wages of your sins, Sarah._

* * *

Daniel arrived early. His father did not come.

Sarah stayed in her room for as long as she could, then finally left it and went out onto the porch. Daniel was sitting there with her father. Casey was on the porch too, but on the other end, a long piece of grass between his teeth, gazing out toward the horizon.

Daniel whistled, long and low. "Sarah, you look so...beautiful." He licked his lips and Sarah hid her shudder. She stilled it just before he touched her, pulling her to him and whispering, "That dress is going to kill me."

Sarah glanced at her father, but he had gotten up and walked to Casey. They were talking. Daniel's arms slithered around Sarah's waist and he pulled her against him. "I cannot wait for our wedding night," he whispered, this time his mouth close to her ear, his lips brushing it. She shuddered again but he misread it. "I can tell you are eager too." He leaned back so that she could see his brief leer.

Sarah disentangled herself gently from his arms. "Daniel, the guests are arriving."

And they were - the first wave from town. Lester Patel and his wife, Ami, were getting out off their wagon. Sarah went out to greet them, and walked away with Ami, leaving Daniel with Lester. Sarah smirked inwardly. A small victory.

* * *

Sarah and Ami made small talk on the porch.

Daniel and Lester moved their conversation to the porch too. Sarah's dad and Casey had disappeared. Other guests arrived and some of the ranch hands went out to help them. Sarah looked to see if Chuck and Roan were there yet, but they were not.

Ami leaned toward Sarah, glancing around to make sure no one was close to them. "Have you heard about our new school teacher and...his student?"

Sarah swiveled her head. "What? No."

"Well, according to Mrs. Justus, Mr. Bartowski has been making advances...improper suggestions...to Ruth."

"Mrs. Justus says this?"

Ami nodded, her thin face grave.

"And you believe Athaliah?"

Ami's dark eyes clouded. "I know. That's what I told Lester when he told me the story. That woman has no use for us until she has some story to spread. Normally, we are too...brown...for her to...acknowledge us. Like the Grahams. Will they be here tonight?"

"No," Sarah said. "Mrs. Graham's got a cold. But, Ami, I don't believe that story for a minute. Think about our new teacher - if you were a smart girl of Ruth's age, how do you think you would react to him?"

Ami gazed off and then scrooched in her seat. "I would be in love with him."

Sarah kept the smile off her face. She decided she liked Ami after all. "Right. Isn't it much more likely that Ruth is moony over Mr. Bartowski and that Mrs. Justus is just pursuing her vendetta? You know, she does not like him and did not want to hire him."

Ami nodded still gazing off. She scrooched again, glanced at Lester, and sighed through a frown. "That does seem likely. Men are fools; my husband will believe anything, as long as it is to someone else's discredit. He does not seem to understand how much to his own discredit that is."

Sarah followed Ami's gaze. Daniel and Lester seemed deep in conversation. Lester said something and Daniel's face became a thunderhead cloud. He noticed Sarah looking and he smoothed his features - but she could see whatever it was still present in the tension of his posture.

Sarah looked away and saw Roan's carriage. _Chuck! _She forced herself not to smile, not to react. He was in his Boston suit, a surprise, and was wearing the black bowler. He looked adorable. Sarah saw her father. He had come back to the porch alone, and he went out to meet Roan's carriage.

It had darkened outside and the fire was burning, the lamb on the spit. Lanterns had been lit while Sarah talked to Ami. Sarah, not realizing she was doing it, attracted by a kind of gravity, got up and left the porch, walked toward Chuck. She finally understood the path of her feet and she willed herself to stand still.

Chuck looked at her over her dad's shoulder. The look was deep, intense, earnest. In it, Sarah felt as though she had been seen for the first time (_how does he do that?_); she felt as if she stood in Edenic splendor. His eyes shifted subtly, and the moment passed, but his new look was still adoring. She wanted him to look at her forever like that. She needed him to stop immediately. He smiled at her and looked away. She felt Daniel's hands claim her, squeeze her around the waist, and he turned her and led her away. She made herself glance at him and smile. That smile felt like a worm on her lips, cold, alien and repulsive.

* * *

She watched Chuck as she could, when Daniel was occupied.

She saw Chuck talking to Ellie and Devon. Sarah had missed their arrival, somehow, probably during the conversation with Ami. Chuck wandered away from the fire after a few minutes and Sarah could no longer see him.

Daniel was acting peculiar. His hands were on her more often than she could ever remember, subtly trespassing boundaries she had set and insisted on. She noticed that he was keeping track of Chuck too when he thought she wasn't looking, and each time his eyes fell on Chuck, they glinted, hard and cold. She was frightened by that, frightened for Chuck. And so she made herself even more attentive to Daniel, more ingratiating. Her stomach knotted inside her.

* * *

While people were eating, and just before the dancing was to begin in earnest, Sarah felt a hand take hers - kindly, not possessively - and she turned to see Ellie.

"Hey, Sarah. Just wanted to stop by for a moment - when _he _was gone - and offer you some moral support. And to tell you - don't go through with it. Don't do it for Chuck, for me, for anyone. We..."

Sarah could have cried. She didn't. Instead, she squeezed Ellie's hand to stop her while Sarah kept her own reaction minimal. If Ellie continued, Sarah would break down. "Thank you, Ellie. How's the lamb? I can't eat a bite."

Ellie smiled but Sarah could see that Ellie careful to modulate it. "God, Sarah, this must be awful. He's been pawing you all evening. I don't think Chuck could take it. He wandered off somewhere - a bad habit of his."

"All this pretending is bad enough. To do it in front of Chuck with Daniel like he is tonight - I just…"

"He's coming, Sarah."

Daniel joined them. "Ah, the shapely Miss Bartowski. Here along with our questionable doctor, I see. You do know that he was suspected of the murder of our previous school teacher, Miss Reynolds? That murder has still not been solved. Who knew teaching school could be so deadly an occupation?"

Sarah saw Ellie's eyes flash. But she responded with a honeyed tone. "I did know that, but it is so _gallant _of you to share the information with me. How kind you must be to care for my well-being. And," Ellie continued, the sting in her honey, "if the murder has not been solved, then I guess anyone with opportunity would still technically be a suspect. We could ask Mr. Montgomery if that's correct; he knows the law."

Daniel's face fell. For all his vaunted speed with a gun, he had no speed at verbal exchange. Sarah watched his attempt to create a reply with hidden amusement. "Are you...What do you…?" His tone was interrogative but he never rose to the level of an actual question.

Ellie looked at Sarah and her tone became formal, distant. "I just wanted to thank you and your father for all this, Miss Walker. Will you tell him for me?"

"Yes, Miss Bartowski, I will. It was nice to speak to you."

Ellie nodded and moved away. Daniel's arm coiled around Sarah. "She's a haughty bitch, isn't she. Figures, given her grind of a brother. Book smart, world stupid."

Sarah did not look at him.

* * *

A few minutes later, Diane Beckman and her husband, the Mayor, Bernard, walked up to Sarah and Daniel.

"Miss Walker, my husband I wanted to congratulate the two of you on your upcoming nuptials." Diane, smiling, moved in for an unpracticed hug. She stepped away and Bernard gave Sarah a small, formal bow. His eyes were soft...sympathetic. Sarah was lost for a moment; it was almost as if Bernard knew what she was suffering through. But that was impossible.

She curtsied. Daniel shook hands with Bernard, a short, stiff affair. Sarah glanced to Diane, and noticed that Diane's eyes were on Roan Montgomery.

"I was sorry to hear about the loss of your sheep, Miss Walker," Bernard said.

Sarah attended to him. "Thank you, Mayor. It was awful. That Number Gang has got to be stopped."

Bernard's face grew stony. "Absolutely. They do. Idaho Falls faces challenges enough without the Gang's shadow discoloring everything."

Daniel broke in. "Well, they haven't just kicked up a ruckus here. I've heard they've pulled jobs as far away as Cody. Maybe Cody will take care of them."

"Maybe," Diane said in unconvinced agreement. "But we also have our own problems to attend to. The railroad is an engine of change. Having regular trains will change us; losing the camp - it's down to just a handful of men now - will change us. We have to negotiate the changes carefully."

Bernard settled into the background and Sarah let Diane and Daniel talk about the railroad without paying much attention. The dancing was beginning in earnest. Sarah let herself imagine being free to dance with Chuck, beneath the October moon, whirling in her blue dress. She saw him then, standing off to the side. She hadn't noticed when he arrived, in her rush of feeling, but he looked troubled, haunted. She knew she was at least the partial cause of that, and, ignoring her own pain, she empathized with his.

A few minutes later, Daniel had her out, dancing. It was like dancing with an army of hands, now here on her, now there. Once, right in front of Chuck, Daniel had slid a hand onto her backside and squeezed it. She knocked it away, hard, but when she saw the fire in his eyes, she made herself give him a flirty smile and a toss of her hair. Behind the smile and toss, she choked back bile.

The dance continued. Sarah loved to dance. She hated it then with a hatred almost as great as that for her partner. But she kept smiling. The fiddle played. And played. She smiled and smiled.

Or she did until she saw Andi Cogburn ask Chuck to dance. Daniel had gone to get punch. Watching Andi, Sarah suddenly seethed. Her chest tightened - and her fists.

Andi was sweet enough, and they had been girlhood playmates, but Andi had set her cap for Daniel and took Sarah to have stolen him from her. Sarah would have felt bad for Andi, if she hadn't known that Andi was not a woman of deep affections. She was pleasant, and could be charming, but she waterbugged through life despite her pleasing plumpness - she never broke the surface.

Sarah also knew that she was...well, quick to shed her clothes. Andi had spent much of the evening dancing with Vincent, Daniel's closest friend. Sarah was certain from the nature of Andi's interaction with Vincent that they had been partners in other sorts of dances. Now, though, Andi was talking to Chuck. He was smiling in response to her smile. They were dancing together. Andi wanted a new partner.

As Sarah watched Chuck, saw the haunted look in his eyes pass, and cheer replace them. He continued to return Andi's smiles.

Sarah wanted to kill the strawberry blonde. Just then, she noticed Chuck look at her and Sarah tried to school her features, to hide her displeasure, but she was a beat too late.

Although she had empathized with Chuck's predicament, having to watch her with Daniel, she realized she had not understood it. Watching him with Andi, Sarah felt the torture Chuck must be feeling.

No, the situations weren't the same.

She was pretending - but pretending that required her to let Daniel handle her, kiss her. She was pretending to love Daniel. Chuck did not love Andi, and his enjoyment of their dance was not pretense and was (on his side, anyway) innocent. But he was free to show Andi that enjoyment. Sarah had known only a few fleeting moments of freedom with Chuck.

Andi's mind was turning as Andi danced - hidden behind Andi's smiles - and Sarah knew what was happening when Andi asked Chuck to dance a second time. Sarah stared at them as they danced again, at least until Daniel returned. She saw Vincent staring at Chuck and Andi too. Daniel saw her looking at Vincent and saw Vincent staring at the dancing couple. He handed Sarah her cup of punch as he continued to watch Vincent watch Chuck.

When the dance ended, Andi tried to engage Chuck again. Sarah boiled but Chuck refused.

Andi was obviously disappointed and she sulked as Vincent tried to get her to dance with him. Her plans for the evening had been...derailed. Sarah smirked inwardly.

At about that moment, Daniel pulled her back out to dance. She made herself concentrate, as she could, on Ellie and Devon as they danced, on how lost they were in each other.

Lost. In a little less than a month, Sarah would be lost, lost down the aisle.

* * *

Daniel had left her for a moment again. More punch. Sarah looked around.

Chuck and Roan were getting in Roan's carriage. As Chuck got in, he looked back at her.

Sarah was standing alone, looking at him. Her heart was out of her chest and in her eyes. Achy, all over. She wanted him so much, wanted to be with him so much.

She had to lock her knees to remain upright.

Chuck tipped the edge of his bowler to her and he was gone.

* * *

Sarah had put on her flannel nightgown and braided her hair for bed. The party was over.

Daniel was gone. The ranch was dark. Sarah felt raw, bruised, anxious, brimming with self-reproach.

At least Daniel was gone and she had managed to force him to say goodbye in sight of her dad, so his hands - and tongue - stayed in their place.

She knew she was pretending; she knew she and Chuck were together, not exactly. But on top of her physical revulsion to Daniel was her emotional self-revulsion. She felt like she was cheating on Chuck. She felt cheap and degraded, used. She knew that wasn't the true story - certainly not the whole story, but knowing that did not make the oily repugnance she felt for herself disappear.

_What does it say about me that I can pretend such a thing, feeling as I do?_

She was toiling with that question when she heard a disturbance outside. A horse, a carriage, shouts. She grabbed her robe and tied it around her. She hurried out onto the porch.

The earlier scene of revelry was now a scene of confusion. Casey was shouting orders to sleepy ranch hands. Roan was still in his carriage, shaking his head. Chuck was standing beside the carriage. At Chuck's feet was Vincent, Daniel's friend. He was dead.

She saw Casey turn and approach her dad. He nodded at him, and they both looked at the corpse. Her dad yelled, "Hey, someone take the body and put it in the tool shed!" A couple of men picked Vincent's body up, one holding his shoulders, the other his feet, and they started toward the shed, off to the side of the barn.

Casey finally finished his hushed conversation with her dad. He walked over to her while her dad followed the men with the body. Chuck was still just standing there. When Casey reached her, Sarah grabbed his arm, mainly to keep herself from rushing into Chuck's.

"Casey, what…?"

"I killed Vincent. He followed Chuck and Roan after the party. He took Chuck to Devil's Point. He was trying to force Chuck to jump."

Sarah had an instant image of Chuck's body broken at the foot of the cliff. She whimpered and sank to her knees. Casey reached down and grabbed her under her arms, not unkindly but firmly. "No, Miss Sarah, don't. Stand up and take it. He's okay, as you can see, although he's in shock or something, I think."

Sarah saw the vacancy in Chuck's eyes. She freed herself from Casey's grasp and went to Chuck.

"Chuck, Chuck - are you okay? You look...raggedy...in the soup. Are you okay."

He looked at her and his eyes finally focused. "Sarah."

He said her name like a prayer. She fisted her hands and struggled against her urge to take him in her arms, comfort him.

"He was going to make me jump. Or shoot me and let me fall. Fall. Idaho Falls. They took my apple, the Numbers Gang. Made Carina eat part of it. Stole the rest. He was going to make me jump, Sarah. Casey killed him."

His verbal spiral was echoed by the one in his eyes. He looked dizzy, like he was reeling. She reached out carefully, one hand, and touched his face for the briefest moment.

His eyes stopped spinning. He closed them, breathed out, and then he prayed her name again. "Sarah."

"Chuck."

Her dad returned. "Chuck, I'm sorry about this. I don't know what Vincent was doing, although the men told me you danced with Andi Cogburn?"

Chuck nodded. "She asked and I did. Twice."

"Well, that ain't no crime." Her dad shot her a brief, apologetic look. "You should stay here tonight, although I only have room for one more in the house."

Chuck's color returned. He was standing straighter. "Let Roan have the room. I can sleep in the barn."

"Are you sure, Chuck. You could have my room, I could sleep out there."

Chuck shook his head emphatically. "No, no need, Jack. I'm myself again. I'll be fine. The odor of the hay will soothe my nerves."

Jack laughed, a short snort. "That isn't the only odor in the barn, Chuck. But I guess it's not too bad in there. Are you sure."

"Yes."

Jack stood for a moment, his mouth twisted to the side. "Alright, I'll have the men gather some loose hay in the loft. Get you up off the ground, anyway." Her dad shifted his attention to Roan, who had gotten out of the carriage. "Come inside for a whiskey, Roan - you and Chuck?"

Chuck's face lost some color. "No, thanks, Jack. I need air, not whiskey."

Her dad nodded. He led Roan inside. "So tell me more about this, Roan..."

Casey had been standing on the porch, watching and listening. He stepped down and joined Chuck and Sarah. Sarah turned and hugged Casey as hard as she physically could. She whispered her thanks over and over.

After a minute, he pushed her away. "It's okay, Miss Walker. He's okay. But this is the beginnin', ya know? Who knows what happens now?"

Chuck looked at Casey. "What were you doing out there, Casey. I'm sorry, I should've asked - I should have spoken, before now."

Casey shrugged. "Hey, you gave me my watch. We're gonna need to talk 'bout that soon. But it can wait until tomorrow. I guess we'll cart...Vincent...to town tomorrow when Jack goes to church." Casey grunted. "That should sober the church-goers right up!"

Men had been going in and out of the house as they talked. Chuck gave Sarah a long look then spoke: "I'm going to the barn. I need to stretch out. I have had the longest day."

Sarah tried to tell him so many things with her eyes in her answering glance, but all she said was: "Okay, Chuck."

Chuck went into the barn. Sarah and Casey watched him go. Casey turned to her. "That kid. He's a human lightnin'-rod. You know, Miss Sarah, he thinks he's a coward, that he's guilty o' some offense'."

"He does? How do you know that, Casey?"

"It's in his shoulders, the way he carries himself...like on the way back here or when he thinks no one's lookin'."

"He thinks he's a coward…" Sarah repeated, looking at the closed barn doors.

"Yep. But he ain't. I commanded a couple of men like him at the end of the war. Both of 'em got themselves killed tryin' to make up for somethin' they didn't do."

Sarah's ache returned. Casey went on. "That kid's a born teacher, an' Idaho Falls is lucky to have 'im. But...You need to find out why he's really here, though, Miss Sarah, before…"

"Before what, Casey?"

"Before he gits hisself killed makin' up for somethin' he didn't do."

* * *

The ranch quieted down. Darkness and silence claimed it again.

Sarah rose from her bed and crept out of the house and into the barn, staying as silent as possible. She paused after she entered the side door to the barn, letting her eyes adjust to the deeper dark. Blinking, she felt her way to the ladder that climbed to the loft. She went up it and stepped off onto the rough surface of the loft.

Her vision had adjusted. She could see Chuck, under a rough woolen blanket, his head pillowed on a similar blanket, folded. She took off her robe and then she kneeled beside him. She leaned down and kissed his lips.

His eyes opened. He looked around the loft. "Sarah. Are we alone?"

She nodded and dove in for a kiss to ease the ache she had been feeling for hours. He wrapped her in his long arms and she lost herself in his kiss, in the taste and feel of him. She lifted his blanket and scooted underneath it, on top of him, without breaking the kiss.

Finally, she pulled back. She was alive with hunger for him, need. She sat up, astride him. Holding his gaze with hers, she unbuttoned the top of her nightgown. She felt Chuck trembling beneath her.

"Sarah?"

She reached out and took his wrist. She guided his hand inside her nightgown, holding his wrist gently. He tried to pull his hand back, but she tightened her grip and shook her head. She held his wrist until she felt his hand cup her, felt his thumb brush the supersensitive tip of her breast. It was her turn to tremble.

"Sarah, I can't stand this."

She could feel the truth of what he said beneath her. She sighed and released his wrist. After another gentle squeeze and sweep of his thumb, he removed his hand from inside her nightgown.

"Thank you, Chuck. I needed _you _to touch me, to touch me where only you have touched me." She leaned down and they shared another long kiss, trembling into each other.

"Chuck, it's time: it's time for me to tell you about me, my dad, our past. And I need you to tell me about you. About why you are here."

"Okay, Sarah, but I'm not sure you will want me anymore, after I tell you."

"I feel the same way," Sarah said softly.

"There's nothing you could tell me that would make me _not_ want you, Sarah."

"I feel the same way," Sarah repeated - but emphatically.

Chuck spoke slowly. "I came here to kill Daniel Shaw. For revenge."

Sarah gasped. "What?" For a second it was as if her vision had not adjusted; everything darkened, retreated. "Why?" She rested her hands on his arms, steadying herself.

Chuck sat up. Sarah was still astride his lap. He put his hands on her shoulders. "It's a long story. And I'm not sure you will...believe it all."

"I will, Chuck. Tell me."

Chuck inhaled deeply. "It all starts with Jill Roberts. She is - was - Molly's mom. I got to know her by getting to know Molly…"

And so he told her the story. She wept over Jill's brutal death, Molly's aloneness. But she thrilled to hear of Chuck's role in their lives, of his and his sister's generosity to the little girl. She gasped and trembled when he told her of what he had found out about Daniel's meetings with Jill.

Chuck told her all of it, until he got to his vision of Daniel. To tell her that, he backtracked to his childhood illness and his parents' death.

"So, after they were buried," Chuck said, his voice low, I started seeing things. Not things that weren't there. Or at least that's not how I would describe it. It's more like seeing something in front of you and being able to see its reflection in a mirror past it at the same time. You see both the facing side and the backside of the thing all at once, say a vase of flowers.

"I would look at things and see a side of them that no one else could see, a _real_ side of them, just not one anyone else could see from any vantage point. At first, it scared me - and I told no one because I was afraid it would make them scared of me - and then later it became, I don't know, not so scary but...just a burden, a weight on me. I knew secrets no one else knew, but couldn't share them with anyone. I hoped not to have them, even tried to live so as to avoid them for a while, but it didn't work. I just had to learn to live with it, my curse."

"And that's the reason, isn't it?" Sarah stroked him gently on the cheek. "That's the reason for _Heaven and Hell? _You're like him, Swedenborg, or he's like you. You both have visions…"

"Yes, maybe we're not the same, but he's closer to me than anyone else and he says things that make sense to me. Reading him made me feel...less crazy, less deranged."

Sarah leaned forward. He shut his eyes for a kiss, but she kissed his lowered eyelids, not his lips, first one then the other. "You're not crazy, Chuck. You are the sanest man I know. You're special, so very, very special…"

She started to kiss his lips but he put a hand between them. "That's how I know Daniel killed Jill. I don't have any evidence, just a vision. A vision of him as a demon. I vowed to kill him, to avenge Jill.

"I should have told you, but I saw no way of proving his guilt and...and I promise you I would have stopped him, or tried, before the wedding. If you knew, it was - it is - just going to make things harder for you."

Sarah swallowed. "It does, Chuck, and it doesn't. I've known since early on he was capable of murder, even if I tried not to know it...and so knowing that he committed one is more confirmation than...surprise." She sat on him quietly, head down, looking at her own hands.

"This makes me fear him more; still, I feared him already." She lifted her head. "Knowing it strengthens my resolve. _I am not marrying that man_. But you have to promise me - you will not try to face him down. No gunfight, Chuck. I know you well enough to know what you must be planning. Promise me, Chuck. Some vows require you to become an infidel." She looked deeply into his eyes.

He closed his. "I can't promise that, Sarah, not unless you can promise me you won't marry him, _no matter what_."

"But, Chuck, there are other people involved, including Ellie and Molly...Morgan...Devon. If Daniel does...The cost would be too high." She shook her head.

Chuck spoke, his tone expressing dawning certainty. "No...No. You can't dictate the terms of other people's safety, Sarah. Maybe...I'm finally understanding that. None of those people would want you to pay that cost to preserve their safety. None of them would want to be safe if it meant you giving yourself...your life...to Daniel Shaw, Sarah.

"Don't patronize…" - he smiled - "_matronize_ others under the guise of noble self-sacrifice.

"Better to die fighting for everyone to have a chance to live the life he or she hopes, than to live your life on the ruins of someone else's hope. There is no Paradise atop someone else's Inferno, Heaven atop someone else's Hell." His eyes were eloquent, as were his words; she felt them both in her heart.

"No one wants that, Sarah, and I'm _sure_ that includes your dad. I think he sent Casey after me. And, as it's gotten nearer...he obviously has second thoughts...Why does he think he's stuck, Sarah, that you are stuck?"

* * *

It was now time for her to tell him. To tell him about the past, the cons, the cheating, the story of how they got the money for the ranch.

He had told her difficult things. She was not running from them, from him. But she had kept this shame bottled up for so long. Her life of pretense was first and foremost driven by the need to keep this shame from being known. It was the longest con of all, her con of herself, her attempt to try to deny her past by never affirming it.

Her mouth was dry. Chuck was watching her. She finally managed words, her lips and tongue feeling stiff.

"Have you ever had a _vision_ of me, Chuck?" She was desperate to know the answer to the question; she was terrified to know it. Sitting in his lap, facing him, she would know if he lied.

_Am I a demon, a bad angel, Chuck? Have you fallen in love with a demon?_

He smiled at her, an anointment. "I had one tonight, Sarah, when I arrived. You were aglow with heavenly light."

She inhaled sharply then collapsed onto his chest. She wept. The long-accumulated misery pouring out of her, the pent shame, the years of self-laceration. He held her and told her again and again what he had seen. And she believed.

When her tears were done, she found the words. "My dad was a confidence-artist, Chuck, and he made me one too…"

She told it all to him. The years of not understanding the wrong of it, then half-understanding, then understanding and persisting despite the understanding. The final con, the one that got them the money for the ranch: all of it, for the first time in her life, Sarah told her own story. She was as much its audience as Chuck.

As she spoke, she held onto him and his words. "You were aglow with a heavenly light." And as she let her words come, and go, she felt aglow, her inner darkness dispelled, syllable by syllable.

* * *

It was nearly morning when she woke up.

She had fallen asleep atop Chuck. After kissing him softly, she got up and buttoned her nightgown, put on her robe and climbed down the ladder. She made it back to her room, unobserved.

But then she realized that she caught a whiff of a pungent cigar as she left the side door of the barn. It hadn't registered as she hurried through.

Casey knew.

She knew her secret was safe with him.

She wasn't sure why, but she felt like the situation somehow had changed, even if it all still looked the same.

She had changed. She felt..._light_.

* * *

Chuck woke in the loft, the taste of Sarah's kisses still sweet on his lips.

A rooster crowed. Chuck blinked.

His head wasn't hurting anymore.

He was seeing clearly.

Another crow, lusty and bright. _Sunday morning! Wake up! Rise and shine!_

It came to him as he sat up. Not all the details but the _pattern, _the shape. The geometry of it. Euclid. Chuck understood. He didn't know how to prove it, but he understood. He would find proof.

He was seeing clearly.

Sarah had inadvertently given him the key the second time he saw her.

Homer. _The Illiad. _

* * *

_**End of **_

_**Book Two:**_

_**The Hells are Everywhere**_

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

A/N2: _Cock-a-doodle-doo!_

Come back for Book Three: "Beatific Visions?" Things start with a bang.

Hope you are enjoying yourself, my little _Mystery Revenge Western of Ideas_.

How about a response during intermission? Review? PM?

Intermission Music: _Game of Thrones Theme - Western Cover_. Find it on Youtube.


	21. Double-Minded

A/N1: Book Three begins. I hope you're scrubbed all rosy and have on your Sunday, go-to-meetin' clothes!

This is the Preludial chapter to Book Three.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

_Double-Minded_

* * *

Sunday, October 11, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck got up and brushed off his clothes, picked hay from his hair. He grabbed his jacket and bowler and climbed down from the loft.

At the bottom of the ladder was John Casey. He had a cigar in his mouth and a question in his eyes.

"I see ya had company last night, kid."

Chuck blushed, the memory of Sarah on his lips - and in his hand - rushing into vividness. "Um, yes, I did. But...but…"

Casey punched Chuck's shoulder. It was playful, but it hurt. "Don't worry none. I saw her leave this mornin', lookin' no worse for wear. No, lookin'...brighter...than I've ever seen her to look."

"But...I...We...No, we…"

"Stop the yammerin', kid, I know...Still, a man an' a woman in love's gotta be allowed a little...courtin', right? I remember...how it goes."

He took his watch from his pocket and checked the time. "Gonna have ta git ready for church, soon, an' I guess I'll be taggin' along, takin' Vincent's body to Graham and the sheriff."

"About that, Casey, how did you…?"

"Jack pulled me aside near the beginnin' of the shindig last night. He saw that shop owner, the sneaky one…"

"Lester Patel?"

"Yeah, him. Saw him and Shaw locked in conversation, stealin' looks at you. Jack saw murder in Shaw's eyes - least, that how he tol' it to me. So, he set me up to watch. I spent most of the shindig up in the loft. I used it afore you and Miss Walker," he gave Chuck a grin, "and I watched the eatin' and drinkin' and dosey-doe-in'. Couple o' times I almost shot Shaw fer his disrespectin' of Miss Walker. 'Course, she's made-a rawhide underneath all that softness - an' one day maybe Shaw'll get a whip of it."

He pulled on his cigar, the anger in his eyes rhyming with the bright blaze of the cigar's end as he pulled on it.

"Anyways, I saddled up an' headed out to the road, once I saw Roan was-a leavin'. I was pretty sure any trouble'd be comin' from behind you, cause I sent Nehi out early in the evenin' to check the road. He came out to pay his respects an' drink a mug or two, then he went back toward town and watched. Now, just at 'bout the time you was leavin', I saw Daniel talking to Vincent, quiet-like an' intense. That sure worried me some."

"I waited for you and Roan to pass and, sure 'nuff, Vincent came after ya. I followed him and I saw where he was takin' ya. I circled around a little bit so's to keep the sound down, and then I killed him before he killed ya."

"Thank you, Casey.'

"Thank ya for my watch. Now, how'd ya come to have it?"

"I can't tell you...not right now. But later today, if you can stay in town, I will. Just meet me at The Bar None."

Casey gave him a look. "This has somethin' to do with Carina Miller. I'd bet my watch on it."

"Just meet me."

* * *

Except for one brief, big, happy smile when no one was looking, Sarah did not look at Chuck as she came out and got in the wagon with her father. A small convoy was headed to town. Casey had another wagon with Vincent covered in the back. Various ranch hands and their families were also part of the group, the death having made many decide to go to church, out of feelings of mortality or of curiosity.

Its solemnity elongated the ride to town - it felt like a funeral procession, although no one mourned the dead. The Idaho sky, its look for so long fierce and piercing, indifferent if not malignant, seemed tender, kind - gray and soft. Not mournful, but reservedly observant.

Chuck rode in the front of the wagon beside Casey. Casey had nothing to say, although he seemed thoughtful, grunt-ful. Chuck kept his own counsel, trying to work through his epiphany. It was still two-dimensional — it lacked depth and detail. But Chuck was sure of it. The depth and detail would come.

He looked at Sarah in the wagon ahead. She had glanced back a time or two but had kept her face from betraying anything. Still, there was no need to glance back, so the glance itself held significance.

They entered town on Mrs. Fitzsimmons' end of the main street. Casey let Chuck off, and then he went on to Graham's. Chuck walked along behind the wagons and carriages. He looked along the street to the schoolhouse in the distance. The doors were shut and someone - Mrs. Justus - was standing in front of them, gesticulating and shouting. Chuck couldn't make out the words, but their hateful tone was audible from the distance.

* * *

Athaliah Justus noticed them coming and noticed Chuck.

The wagons and carriages stopped. Jack and Sarah got down, as did the others. Chuck was a few steps behind.

Her bible, omnipresent and impotent, was in one hand. With the other, she was pointing at Chuck.

As he got closer, he could make out the words.

"Look, brothers and sisters, look at him and remember _James 1:8_. 'A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways.' Our schoolteacher…" - she ladled contempt on the term - "is a double-minded man. A Divinity student, they told us. But what does he teach our students? Shakespeare! Melville! Godless, heathen works, full of blood and murder, oaths and pagans, compacts with the devil, ghosts and suicides. Unnatural white whales. I was told of the classes by my daughter." She rotated her pointing arm to Ruth, who was standing in front of the disjointed congregation, her head down, her face obscured by her hair.

"But that is not all, although that is _enough_. He has also made...advances to my daughter, a serpent attempting to steal her innocence. The oldest story - and a true one, always true! My daughter says he...touched her."

Chuck looked at Ruth; her head sank lower. Many in the crowd turned toward Chuck. He thought of the night before, in the loft with Sarah, his hand in her nightgown, and he blushed with love for Sarah. Athaliah saw the blush and gloated.

"You see: his shame is on his face for all to see. And then yesterday, just yesterday, I saw him coming down the backstairs of The Bar None - we all know to what brassy pit of hell those steps lead - , coming from a rendezvous with whores. He is not just their friend; he lies with them. He is double-minded and he is teaching your children, our children" - she jutted her finger at Ruth again - "to be unstable as he is unstable. He is a corruptor. 'But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust has conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death. Do not err, my beloved brethren…'

"That is what James says, brothers and sisters: _do not err. _But we did when we took this serpent to our bosom" - another glance at Ruth, suggestive - "and we must repent of this sin and make this man leave our school, leave our town."

Athaliah paused. Chuck scanned the crowd. No one was looking at him. He could see neither David nor Daniel Shaw among the number.

"He has nothing to say. He knows I am right. Am I telling the truth or not, Mr. Bartowski?"

Everyone turned to him. But then a voice rose in the congregation. "I'd like to know jes what you was a-doing _outside_ The Bar None at the crack o' dawn, Athaliah. Was ya plannin' to climb them hellish step yersef?" It was Nehi. There was a ripple of laughter.

Heads rotated back to Athaliah. She frowned. "I was out walking, saying my prayers." A smug smile overtook her frown.

"S'that so? So ya was a-praying like the Pharisee, out onna street, in public? I took that book ya a-wavin about to say ya oughta pray inna closet, like t' Publican. How'd'ya know Dee-vine wasn't upstairs a prayin' inna closet?"

Athaliah looked around. The silence suggested an interest in her answer. "I do not have to explain myself to the likes of you, Nehemiah. We know the kind of man you are. We all know about your taste for whiskey."

"That's plain an' true, Athaliah, I gots a deep and gorgeous thirst for the redeye, an' I ain't never been no hi-po-creet about it, ne'er done my drinkin' a-hind closed shades, I reckin. But I's as sober as a judge right now, an' ya ain't answer'd my question." The crowd between Athaliah and Nehi parted so that they faced each other across an unoccupied divide.

Athaliah waved her bible. "We all know what I stand for. He, Mr. Bartowski, is the one who needs to answer."

A tense silence fell on the group. Nehi looked to speak again, but Chuck stepped forward.

"I will answer."

He climbed the steps and stood beside Athaliah in front of the red schoolhouse doors. He looked out at the crowd. Jack and Sarah stood on the edge of the group. Sarah was looking at Chuck. Jack nodded to him. Chuck saw Bernard and Diane Beckman. They were both smiling, their faces expectant. Mrs. Whittier frowned and shook her head.

"How many of you have read Melville's _Moby-Dick_?" Feet shuffled. No one answered. "Have you read the book you condemn Mrs. Justus?"

She looked around, hoping someone else would speak. No one did.

"No. But I have read about it."

"Then you do not know the epigraph of the book?" She shook her head. "The epigraph is from Milton's great Christian poem, _Paradise Lost. _The passage describes the whale. In the passage, the whale is called 'Leviathan'. Do you know where Milton got the name?" Athaliah would not look at Chuck. She stared at nothing. "You do, I see. Or you can guess. It is from _Job. _And from _Psalms, Psalms 74: 14, _if I recall correctly."

Chuck paused for a moment and began to warm to the task. The young man who had been the favorite student preacher at Harvard began to speak, his voice assuming a clarity and authority no one, not even Chuck's students, had heard before.

"Mr. Melville wrote a book about the human predicament, an Old Testament book, specifically about the human predicament without the salvific, merciful Jesus. The book's main character, the man Ahab, is a man who undertakes to rid the world of mystery and of doubts, all represented in his great but fevered mind by the mass of the white whale, in Moby-Dick. What Ahab undertakes is blasphemy. That is true. In that way, the book is Godless, for its God is the jealous God of the Old Testament, the God that Ahab finds inscrutable, and cannot tolerate.

"But that same book opens with one of the great sermons in our literature, in American literature, a sermon by Father Mapple, a sermon about the book of _Jonah. _

"Most of you know that book of the Old Testament. What is it about?"

Nehi shouted in the momentary silence. "It's 'bout a man what gits hisself a-swallowed by a whale — with a deep an' gorgeous thirst for prophets!"

Laughter.

Chuck smiled. "That's right, Nehi. It is a book about a whale, about the Leviathan. Father Mapple talks of the book of _Jonah. _He calls out to his congregation: 'Shipmates!' That is what he calls them. Look it up, it is Chapter Nine. 'Shipmates,' he calls out, '...What depths of the soul does Jonah's deep sea-line sound!' And he tells them the lesson of the book:

"'Shipmates, it is a two-stranded lesson; a lesson to us all as sinful men, and a lesson to me as a pilot of the living God. As sinful men, it is a lesson to us all, because it is a story of the sin, hard-heartedness, suddenly awakened fears, the swift punishment, repentance, prayers, and finally the deliverance and joy of Jonah.'

"Father Mapple underscores that _Jonah_ is about the willful disobedience of the command of God. And he notes - observe this, shipmates, for so _I_ shall call all of _you_, we are all adrift in the same small ship, Idaho Falls - Father Mapple notes that if we obey God we disobey ourselves. That, Father Mapple explains, is the _difficulty_ of obeying God."

Chuck paused. Everyone was looking at him, even Athaliah. Nehi was grinning like a loon.

"Ponder the lesson of Jonah, shipmates. What Father Mapple is saying, if we transpose his words from _Jonah _to _James_, is that we are all double-minded. We want to obey _and _we want to disobey. We are all unstable in our ways.

"Shipmates, think! The sea-line between obedience and disobedience sounds the deeps of each of our hearts. The division between obedience and disobedience is in each human heart. It is not between one of our hearts and the hearts of others. I cannot sink a line between obedience and disobedience that does not divide me from myself. We are all two-stranded.

"_Hard-heartedness_, shipmates. That is Ahab's fatal flaw. He finds no mercy in himself and so finds the universe merciless. He hunts the whale without mercy and dies in flagrant, willful disobedience, even while a part of him that perishes beneath the waves, lashed to the wounded whale, still wants to obey. But Ahab could not soften his heart." Chuck looked at Athalia.

"Hard-heartedness, not double-mindedness, that should be our study. If we can keep from being hard-hearted, we can cope with our double-mindedness. Cope, but not eliminate. We will, each of us, be double-minded to the end of our days, until the all-consuming waters of death swallow us, drag us down into the darkness of the deep, twined to our own white whale, forced to sound the mysteries. We try to do good, but even when we succeed, we know the engine of failure, of disobedience, is ever within us, ready to whistle, to run, to pull us to ruin."

Chuck's voice rang clear; he let it ring.

Then he began again in a softer tone. "'Shipmates,' Father Mapple says as he ends his sermon, 'I have read ye by what murky light may be mine the lesson that Jonah teaches to all sinners; and therefore to ye, and still more to me, for I am a greater sinner than ye.' Father Mapple knows that the lesson is unwelcome - and he knows it because it is unwelcome to him, to Father Mapple. But being unwelcome does not make the lesson untrue."

Chuck's voice sank softer, and the congregation leaned as one toward him. "Shipmates, do you recall that scene in the life of Jesus, when the Pharisees…" - Chuck glanced at Athaliah, whose face had grayed and whose mouth was hanging open, - "...castigated Jesus for eating with publicans and sinners? How did Jesus respond? Mrs. Justus could read it to you. It is in _Mark. _I won't force her to find the passage. I remember it: 'They that are whole have no need of the physician but they that are sick; I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.'

"Have you _considered_ those words, shipmates, understood them aright?

"The Pharisees believed Jesus said that _they were righteous_. But, no! His point is that none are righteous, no, not one. If Jesus ate with anyone, he ate with a sinner. We are all sick, shipmates, dying of hard-heartedness. To tell yourself you are not is to harden your own heart. We have to battle the hardness of our own hearts or they will ossify, and, dead stones in our chests, cease beating altogether."

Chuck paused again. "I _was_ upstairs in The Bar None. I went upstairs to _talk_ to Zondra Rizzo, one of Anna Wu's women, and the mother of one of my students, Anthony. Some of you know that I have been tutoring him outside of school, along with Faith Stone, the daughter of another of Anna Wu's women. That same biblical book that Athaliah Justus quoted, _James_, teaches us that pure religion is to visit the fatherless and widows in their afflictions.

"I am a friend of those women. I care about their children. I will not apologize for that.

But remember this, almost none of those women, those _souls_, choose their life except under constraint, as their only live choice against desperation, against starvation or death. And after they have chosen, if they would choose another life, we neither forgive nor forget their earlier choice, condemning them to it.

"I am not their judge. I am not your judge. I am not my judge. Thank God for that mercy! I condemn no one but rather remind us all of what we are. We are all in this. Together. Like it or not."

He leaned further forward, his voice softer yet. The audience leaned still closer to him.

"I want to be your teacher, to educate your children. But I will teach _school_. I will not oversee a Pharisaic academy. God saw fit to give your children minds and hearts of their own. He saw fit to let Shakespeare and Melville write to teach us the depths of the human soul, to help us discover that we are all, every single man and woman of us, every child, worth saving.

"Like the apostle Paul, like Father Mapple, like Athaliah Justus, like all of you, all of us, _I am chief of sinners_. I own that as I stand here, shipmates, as Father Mapple did. I can only speak out of what murky light may be mine…" Chuck paused for a long moment, holding their attention, '..and so I have. As Melville writes in _Moby-Dick_, 'it's a mutual, joint-stock world in all meridians.' Indeed. We should band together, help each other, not hurt each other, hound each other. This is not just _Athaliah Justus' town_; this is _our_ town."

Idaho Falls fell silent.

Chuck stepped back and looked into the faces of the crowd.

"The Wurd of t' Lord!" Nehi cried. "You tell us, Dee-vine!"

The members of the congregation looked around at each other, at Chuck.

Chuck stepped down onto the top step and focused on Ruth, her head still down, her hair hanging. "Ruth," Chuck asked gently, "did I make advances toward you?"

The girl lifted her head, her cheeks damp. She shook her head. "No." With more conviction. "No. I think...I think you are _wonderful_."

Athaliah Justus dropped her head.

In the consequential silence, Jack Walker wound through the crowd and mounted the steps.

He opened the schoolhouse doors and then turned to the crowd, standing between Athaliah Justus on his left, and Chuck on his right.

"I say we have had our sermon for the day, and what a sermon it was. Let's go in, and sing a song or two, and call it a Sunday."

As the congregation entered the building, Jack stepped to Chuck, a sheepish grin on his face. "I feel a fool for preaching in front of you, Chuck."

As Sarah passed Chuck, she let her hand brush his; the touch spoke volumes.

* * *

Chuck stood at the back as the congregation sang a song and then stepped out. Mrs. Justus had vanished; so was Ruth. The street was empty. Nehi sat on the bottom of the steps. He looked up as Chuck came down, pushing his hat up.

"Did ya have anny trouble las' night, after the bar-b-que? That Casey sended me ta watch the road, but no one come. I waited as long as he tol' me, then comed to town."

"Vincent waylaid us. He was wearing a bandana, like the Numbers Gang. He walked me all the way to Devil's Point, and told me to jump."

Nehi's eyes widened. "Hell, no, not rea'lly?"

"Yes, really. But Casey followed up and killed Vincent. He's with Graham, and probably the sheriff now."

Nehi stood for a long moment, staring at the ground. "Cain't say I'll be a-snifflin' over Vincent's corpse. I's jes glad yer safe." Nehi gave Chuck a sudden hug.

He stepped back, adjusting his vest self-consciously. He gazed at Chuck with one eye open and one eye closed. "I'll heer more 'bout that when ya talk to Sheriff Constance. Let me ask sumthin' else. I's been sittin' here a-mullin' over that sermonizin' you jes done. I's ain't nuvver heerd better. I's ain't nuvver heerd close. Calling you Dee-vine was an in-spire-a-shun, I hasta say. Them Hahr-vard perfessors was right. Not tha' I's doubtin' 'em, but I'd just a-heerd what they sayed. Now, I's heerd ya fer mysef. Wi' the hearin' o' the ears, ya know?"

"That's kind, Nehi. I wish it hadn't come to that. It wasn't a fair fight."

"Now, doan ya wurry 'bout that. Athaliah sure 'n hell wouldn't if the tables were turned, that's shure. And ya did what needed doin'. That shrew needed tamin', an' ya did it. I doan think she'll be a-plaguin' ya agin. She'll be a-fearin' that golden tongue o' yers."

Nehi fell into thought, but he stood up and brushing off the backside of his pants. In the church, "Just as I Am" began, the song following Chuck and Nehi as they started toward the sheriff's office. "Dee-vine," Nehi began, "how's a man who can preech like that evver leave it a-hind?"

Chuck stopped walking. "That's hard to answer, Nehi, but I don't have any wish to be a preacher."

Nehi reached up to the brim of his hat and pulled it down. "Fair 'nuff, ya doan have-ta justify yersef t' me. But ya gots power in yer wurds. Say, whaddaya mean when ya say that we's all sinners? Is we all _evil_?"

Chuck smiled. "No, Nehi, that's not what I meant, not really. And that's part of the reason I decided not to preach. You can't say everything at once, and you can't explain. Preaching has its place, but it is not what I want. I want conversation, discussion, not proclamation." Chuck twisted his mouth. "As to your other question: We've all done evil but I don't mean we all _are_ evil. Thank God, there are few evil people." Chuck smiled ruefully. "If nothing else, sloth prevents the numbers from becoming unmanageable. No, by 'sinner' I mean something more metaphysical than moral. I mean that we are all at odds with ourselves, finite, limited, needy...dying. All of us, all the time...We need each other and constantly deny it. The Pharisees denied it; Athaliah Justus denies it. Their so-called holiness is a denial of their humanity. _We are not as others are._" Chuck shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know. I've been wrestlng with it for a long time. It's hard to explain...if it can be explained."

"Well," Nehi said, "iffin I unnerstan' ya sumwhat, I agree." They started walking again. Nehi looked at Chuck's rumpled Boston suit, the bowler in his hand, where it had been during the entire impromptu sermon. He stopped. "Why's ya wearin' yer Boston duds? Why'd ya wear 'em to the bar-b-que?"

Chuck shrugged again. "I was planning on taking Boston to the barbeque with me, but it didn't work out that way. Things changed for me last night, Nehi. I'm living under a New Testament, a new covenant. The Old one...was fulfilled, in a way, last night. And this suit will be gone. This is the last time I plan to wear it," he held up the bowler, "or this damned hat. I belong to Idaho Falls now, Nehi," Chuck thought of Sarah, her lips, her touch, "for better or worse, and 'til, well, _you know_..."

"Chuck!" Chuck looked. Ellie ran to them from Devon's office. She had a shawl around her shoulders, and her face showed exhaustion and hope. "Chuck," she said again, quieting her voice as she reached them, and as she saw the doors to the church open, "Johnny Constance just woke up."

* * *

A/N2: Bang! Welcome to Book Three. Hold onto your hats. (You knew that gunfight was coming, right?)


	22. Ill Hanged and Well Wed?

A/N1: Events begin to take shape, forward and backward. Important questions asked.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

_Ill Hanged and Well Wed?_

* * *

Chuck and Nehi followed Ellie back to the door of Devon's office.

Ellie turned before she opened the door. "Nehi, can you stay out here and monitor things? It would be good if we didn't overwhelm Johnny. He's awake but...foggy. We're trying to get him to eat some broth - get some nourishment and liquid inside him."

Nehi nodded. Chuck put a hand on Ellie's arm. "What happened?"

Ellie inhaled, then exhaled. "Devon and I got back from the barbeque - remind me to ask you why you didn't - and Mirabelle was waiting for us. There had been no change in Johnny, and no sign of change, so Devon decided it would be okay to leave him with her.

"When we got back, Johnny was not awake but he was...moving, thrashing about, feverish. And then during the night, the fever broke and he stopped thrashing, but he continued to move. An hour or so later, he woke up. It took us a while to calm him down. At first, he was talking crazy, just babbling, nonsense. But then he started talking more coherently. Mirabelle and Devon are with him. He asked to talk to you."

Despite his puzzlement at that, Chuck gave Ellie's arm a squeeze. "Where's Molly?"

"Still with Mrs. Fitzsimmons. What was going on out here - in the street? I thought I heard voices a while ago and saw a crowd outside the schoolhouse?"

"Tell you later. I have a lot to tell you later."

Ellie opened the door and Chuck followed her in. Nehi closed the door and stayed outside.

Devon hurried to Chuck. Johnny sat up in the cot. His mother, Mirabelle, was in a straight-backed chair pulled close, holding one of Johnny's hands. She looked over her shoulder at Chuck. Johnny saw him too and seeing Chuck seemed to calm him.

"Thanks, Chuck," Devon stated quickly, shaking Chuck's hand, "glad you are here. He's still in a bit of a fog, but he seems to be - or to be becoming - himself. He started to talk to me about Miss Reynolds, but he got agitated. I suggested he talk to you. I told him you've been trying to figure out her murder, I'm afraid."

"He seems to have something to tell you. I asked him about the note, but he wouldn't bite. Talk to him or let him talk. Try to keep him calm and focused. He's weak but he won't rest, won't eat anything more, until he's had his say."

"Okay," Chuck said, his tone dubious. "The last time I saw him he had little use for me."

Devon smiled crookedly. "He still has little use for me, and I've been nursing him all this time. Well, with Ellie's help - and Mirabelle's. I will send Nehi to get the sheriff."

"I'll talk to Johnny. Can you take Mirabelle with you? She could use the fresh air, it looks like."

"Right, Chuck, right."

Devon whispered to Mirabelle. She leaned in and touched her son's cheek, then got up and walked out of the office with him. Ellie followed them.

Chuck walked to the cot and sat down in Mirabelle's chair.

Johnny upset Chuck. Johnny had lost weight and color. His neck, no longer swollen, was still an ugly shade of yellow, streaked with purple. His eyes were dull and gluey.

"Mr. Bartowski." Johnny's voice was raspy, tomb-like. "The Doctor says you are trying to find out what happened to...Ida?" He whispered the first name and it jolted Chuck coming from Johnny's dry, cracked lips.

"Yes, I feel like I sort of inherited the mystery, first because I am now the teacher, and second because...I found her."

"I hated you...for both, you know. Or I tried to, anyway." Johnny pulled his blanket closer to him.

"I know. I understand. Johnny, I…"

"I did it," Johnny said the words without emphasis or inflection. It was almost as if he had printed them in the air.

"What did you do, Johnny? You didn't kill her, I'm sure of that."

Johnny gave Chuck a stricken look. He held Chuck's eyes. "No, I didn't kill her, although I...wanted to."

"What happened, Johnny? I will just tell you: I found the old note in your vest pocket. You left your vest at school."

Johnny nodded stiffly as if stone. "I did, didn't I? I wasn't thinking right…"

"Tell me what happened when you met Miss Reynolds that day, Johnny."

Johnny cleared his throat. His voice stayed raspy. "I got her note and went to meet her. We met well outside of town, in a small grove of trees. We found the spot out walking one evening.

Johnny coughed for a moment. "That's how...it started. I would walk with her in the evenings. She was a little afraid of going out that far alone. I would meet her outside of town; no one knew.

"That day, I met her. She had been...acting strange…around me. She had been ill often at school in the mornings. I could tell she was unhappy and...angry with me. She had been avoiding me. We didn't...walk anymore. But that day, she gave me the note in the morning and gave me a smile, the first in weeks.

"I went to meet her. She told me...she would have a baby and...it was mine."

He stopped talking. His head sank a little. Chuck took a cup from next to the chair and held it to Johnny's lips. "Here, Johnny. If this is too much, we can talk later. You're weak."

"No, no, I need to tell you this. Maybe it will...help...someone...something." A tear ran down Johnny's face. His gauntness and the tear made him seem like a young boy - a sick young boy.

"She told me the baby was mine but she wouldn't marry me, that our marriage would be...a scandal. She said she had made other arrangements...I thought she meant she was leaving. She told me she planned to stay." He choked up.

"She sat me down and told me I was still a child and had no place raising a child. She would raise it, and I was never to let on that I was the father. She told me that if I did that, we could start...taking walks together again...keep taking them, no matter what."

Chuck nodded. It was what he had expected, plus or minus a detail.

Johnny coughed again. "That's when she told me to leave. I was so hurt and angry - but maybe she was right, maybe I was a child. So, I did what she said. I left.

"I didn't kill her, but I did it. I made her pregnant. She died carrying our baby. Both of them are dead, Mr. Bartowski. I should be too. Find out who did it," Johnny hissed, reaching out and grabbing Chuck's hand with desperate strength. "Find out."

"She didn't tell you anything else?"

Johnny shook his head. "We...we didn't talk a lot...on our walks. She didn't explain that day."

"And you never saw her with anyone else?"

"I only saw her at school and on our walks. We had to keep it a secret...so we couldn't see around each other. Be around each other. Ida was clear about that."

Chuck thought of Sarah for a second. Their secret, her pretense.

"You need to tell your uncle, the sheriff, about all this too. Maybe we can keep it from spreading. Just sit back. I will figure this out, Johnny. You need to eat and sleep and get strong again. Get home." Chuck made himself smile and shift into the mundane. "I'm hoping to stage a scene from Hamlet for Halloween - I need you for that."

Johnny smiled; his attempt was genuine if starched and unnatural.

Chuck reached out and gave Johnny's shoulder a soft squeeze. "None of this is your fault, Johnny...or...well, you know what I mean. Don't let this overwhelm you again. You should be alive, absolutely should be alive. Don't let whoever did this be responsible for a third death, okay."

Johnny nodded. Chuck stepped out and sent Devon and Mirabelle inside. Ellie was talking with Nehi about the barbeque.

"Nehi, Johnny needs to talk to the sheriff, but maybe we should give him a little time. He's weak and distraught."

Nehi gave a sympathetic nod. "I'll talk t' the sheriff presen'ly. I jes tol' Miss Ellie here 'bout the bar-be-que, and 'bout the shenanigans after."

Ellie's back had been to Chuck when he came outside. He had been looking at Nehi when she turned. Now, he faced her and could see the fear and anger in her eyes.

"Charles Irving…"

"Ellie, don't. Just don't. I've had an...exhausting...day."

Nehi jumped in. "That's certain shure, Miss Ellie. Why, yer bruther jes gived the most movin' sermon I evver heerd - sent Athaliah Justus a-packin', her tail an' her bible a-tween her legs." He slapped his leg, pleased with himself.

Ellie gave Chuck a puzzled look, the fear and anger moving into the background. "I took you to have sworn off the podium, Chuck?"

"Well…"

Chuck's answer was cut off by a shout from down main street, and the sudden pounding sound of many horses. Chuck turned to look. Daniel Shaw was on a large brown horse, whipping it as it thundered down the street. Two riders flanked him on each side. The horses came to a skidding halt in front of Devon's office, throwing dirt into the air. The lathered horses blew and panted.

Chuck looked past the riders. Sarah and her father were standing with a few of the ranch hands outside the schoolhouse. Many other townspeople were still there. The entire group began to move toward the riders.

Daniel leaped down from his horse, just dropping its reins. It stood still, blowing. He started toward Chuck, swinging his whip.

"Where is Vincent, Schoolteacher?"

Chuck stepped toward the edge of the boardwalk. "I believe he's at Graham's Mortuary."

Daniel stopped. The whip flicked in his hand. "What's he doing there?"

"I'm guessin' he's finishin' his measurements fer a pine suit." It was Casey.

Daniel swung his head around. "You!"

"It's me." Casey smiled icily.

"You're Walker's foreman."

"Ya don't miss much, do ya, Dan'l?"

"So, are you telling me that Vincent is dead?"

"Yes, but I take it ya already know that, otherwise ya wouldn't beat that poor horse on t' day o' the Lord. This should be a-day o' rest."

"Did the schoolteacher kill him?" Daniel asked in disbelief and mounting rage.

"No, Vincent seemed to have sumthin' agin' the schoolteacher an' wanted to coax 'im to leap offa Devil's Point. I plugged him to stop it. I tol' the sheriff 'bout it, and he's satisfied wi' the story. Ya need ta choose friends more wisely, Dan'l."

Sheriff Constance walked up behind Casey. Nehi worked his way down the street until he was standing on the opposite end of the group. Chuck saw Shaw notice Nehi's movement.

"I say you are lying. I say you shot Vincent down in cold blood."

Casey grunted, then it turned into a hoarse laugh. "Now, I culd tell all these here folks how I saw ya a-talkin' with Vincent a-fore the teacher here left the shindig, and I culd suggest that ya were the one that put 'im up to it, but I won't. Lots-a folks saw the teacher dancin' - dancin' innocent - with that li'l strawberry twirl' o' Vincent's. An' I'm expectin' they'll believe that he went after the teacher. An' that's what happen - or we culd say that it is. But what didn't happen is that Vincent got killed 'n cold blood."

Sheriff Constance gave Daniel a level look. "We all know t' kinda man yer friend Vincen' was." Constance looked across the street at the group there, including Jack and Sarah. "All of us know he was-a low-down sneak an' a killer. A knave. Lucky fer ya, none of us think the same 'bout ya. Do we folks?"

The sheriff spoke loudly, looking around the street, to the group on the opposite side and the growing group behind Chuck, a group that included Langston Graham and his wife, and Carina and Zondra, who came out of the saloon.

Chuck saw Daniel estimate the situation. He turned and looked behind him; he spotted Sarah for the first time. After shoving the handle of his whip into the top of his boot, he gestured for Sarah to join him.

She stood beside her father. He looked at her and she looked at him.

Daniel gestured again, angrily, beckoning Sarah to him.

Sarah stood still.

"Sarah, come here." Shaw's voice was almost a growl.

"She don't have to, not if she don't want to," someone shouted from the group.

Shaw jerked; his hand dropped. "Who said that?"

"I did," one of the Walker's ranch hands said.

"No, I did," another said.

Shaw narrowed his eyes, rotating his head and taking in the entire scene. "Hilarious. Everyone's clever since the school teacher came to town."

He marched across the street and reached down, taking one of Sarah's hands. "I know what belongs to me. This woman belongs to me. This town belongs to me. Anything I want belongs to me."

Another voice from Chuck's side of the street. "This ain't your town, Shaw, it's our town."

Chuck couldn't locate the speaker. But then he knew the voice. Morgan.

New people were arriving on Chuck's side of the street.

"No," Shaw said, raising his voice and spinning around again, addressing everyone at once. "It's _my_ town. Don't make me come back and prove it."

"Son," the sheriff said, stepping down onto the street. "That sounded mighty like a threat, an' I ain't haven't none o' that 'gainst these good folk." The sheriff looked at the still-gathering crowd, his face expressing pride, pleasure, and surprise. "So, I think ya'd best git on yer horse and take yer boys and leave town this mornin'."

Shaw looked around a third time. But this time, he checked the faces of his men. They were unsure, unsteady. They glanced back at him, sideways at each other.

He returned his focus to Sarah. He put out his hand again.

Sarah took it but she did not move toward him. "You need to leave, Daniel. Vincent made a mistake; don't make it any worse by adding another to it. You've riled up the town against you. Just go. Leave me here. Don't start anything else. There's nothing here to avenge."

Chuck stepped into the street and could hear what Sarah told Daniel.

Daniel dropped her hand. He looked at everyone and shouted. "You don't want me to come back angry, do you hear me? If I do, I swear to God I will burn this town down. Ashes. Ashes. It will all burn down. Ashes! That is all I will leave - and then I will drive my cattle through the ashes, turning them to dust. Idaho Falls will be less than a ghost town, less than a memory. You'd better hope…" - he was screaming now, turning in the street, his horse, no longer winded, prancing - "...you better HOPE that I don't come back angry."

A shot rang out. Dirt leaped into the air at Shaw's feet. Chuck looked up to see Nehi's gun drawn, smoking.

"Now, see here, Dan'l, the sheriff doan tol' ya 'bout makin' threats...Git on yer horse - an' git outta town."

"You dirty dwarf," Daniel said, spitting each word, "you'll pay for that. You will pay. I promise." He hissed through 'promise'.

Daniel walked back to the other side of the street. He stopped in front of Chuck and pulled the whip from his boot.

Chuck did not flinch; he gazed back at Daniel. Daniel started flicking the whip against his own boot, making a repeated snapping sound.

As he did, he leaned to Chuck and whispered in his ear. "_Jill Roberts_. I beat that worthless little whore until she stopped breathing."

He stepped back and smiled at Chuck - a satisfied, goading smile. He climbed on his horse and he turned it tightly, spurred it hard and rode away, his men behind him.

As they reached the end of the main street and left town, a ragged cheer went up.

Sarah crossed the street to Chuck. They did not touch but they held each other's eyes.

* * *

The crowd stood around for a while, folks talking to each other. The church folk intermingled with the non-church folk, believers with unbelievers, the ranch hands with the townsfolk. Many people came up to Chuck to thank him for the sermon. Talk of it had spread; bits of it were being repeated as if the town were echoing its words.

Bernard Beckman shook Chuck's hand, putting his reaction to it all in the handshake. After shaking his hand, he asked Chuck if he could borrow a copy of _Moby-Dick. _

"Yes, but I don't have one with me. My books are being shipped from Boston. They should arrive soon. Ellie shipped them before she left but they are taking more time to make the trip. I'll bring it by when the books arrive and I unpack them."

Diane walked up and gave Chuck a hug. She was beaming. "I knew we were right to hire you, Chuck. Welcome again to Idaho Falls."

Sarah was standing beside Chuck as the Beckman's spoke to him. For a moment, they were alone together in the crowd. "That sermon, Chuck. It...you...gave me chills." She dropped her voice - he could barely hear it. "Do you know how much I love you?"

He nodded, a slow smile overtaking his face. He whispered to her. "I do because I know how much I love you."

She shone. Chuck wanted to kiss her so bad his entire body ached. He could see the same ache inscribed in her posture.

"Well, well, Boston - I hear you're piloting our little ship from the pulpit." It was Carina. She looked at Chuck and Sarah standing there. She leaned toward them and whispered. "Still together-but-not-together? You two need a preacher first and a bedroom second."

Chuck blushed furiously, as did Sarah. But no one noticed. Carina looked around. "Can't chat but I want to talk to you, Boston."

"I need to talk to you. Can we meet later today? The Bar None?"

"Make it the Post Office. 3 pm. Come in the back."

"The Post Office?"

Carina nodded mysteriously. "I have friends in high places - in low places too. I'm just friendly that way." She grinned at Chuck, then seemed to remember Sarah. His grin weakened. "3pm."

Chuck nodded. Carina walked away. He and Sarah were alone in the crowd again.

Sarah looked at him. Chuck explained : "I need to tell her about last night."

Sarah blushed again.

"No, no, I mean about Vincent - and I want her to talk to Casey. I think he can help with her plan."

Sarah grinned and nodded. "Oh. Can I come?"

"Will you still be in town?"

"I can stay if I want. Dad can leave the wagon. He can ride along with one of the hands."

"Then, yes, you can come. No more secrets from you, Sarah Walker." _Except for the one about David Shaw and your mother. I need to understand that before I speak. It will hurt you, my love. _ "Do you think Daniel will be back or will show up at your ranch?"

Sarah studied the question for a moment. "No. One thing I understand now is that it is David, not Daniel, who is the deeply cunning Shaw. The son is a brute, and he is...maniacal. He is a victim of his own furies, his own hatreds. He can't think about other people at all, not even to manipulate them, except in the crudest ways. Like that...speech."

She stopped and appraised Chuck. "What did he say to you, Chuck, whisper to you before he rode away?"

Chuck repeated the words; they left a bitter taste on his tongue. Sarah turned white. "So, Lester must have heard Ellie talking to me at Patel's…" She told him of her conversation with Ellie.

"I guess so."

"And, what he told you - he wanted you to know three things. That he killed her, that he knows you know, and that he sent Vincent after you…"

"Yes, but there's a fourth. He wanted me to know he thinks I am helpless."

Sarah planted her feet. "I'm done with him, Chuck, whatever the consequences. I would rather go honest to the afterlife than pretend this living death. I'm done."

As she stood there, she got a funny look on her face, all at once shy and expectant. She gazed into his eyes for a beat, then dropped her eyes. "Will you marry me, Chuck?"

"Sarah?...What? I..." Chuck's smile hid the horizon - he could feel it. He started to respond.

At that moment, Ellie joined them. She gave them a look, eager to know the topic of conversation, but neither shared it. Everything stopped for a moment.

Ellie shrugged and spoke. "Johnny's asleep. He ate some. Your talk seemed to calm him, as we hoped. Devon thinks he's out of danger unless he endangers himself again. - Are you going to tell me what he said?"

"Not now, Ellie. Give me a little while to follow-up on it. Say, Ellie, Sarah will stay in town for the day. Would you like to join us at Lou's for lunch? We can also get Molly and Morgan. Casey. Nehi. And Devon if he can leave Johnny with his mom."

Ellie smiled. "Sunday dinner...Li'l old me? With the preacher? " She affected a southern accent. "Why, wouldn't that just be an _honor_?" She mock-fanned herself and then she and Sarah began giggling.

* * *

Sarah's father left the wagon and went back with one of the hands. He was apprehensive, but then realized Casey would be there to go back with her.

At dinner, Sarah ate her steak with appetite. She was working on a slice of fresh apple pie. She rarely got to eat at Lou's but she always loved the food. But today, she loved _everything. _

Lou had seated the large group in a room off the main dining room. It was just them: Sarah, Chuck, Ellie, Molly, Devon, Casey, Morgan, and Nehi. Sarah sat across the table from Chuck, between Ellie and Molly.

Sarah belonged there.

Sarah spent dinner talking with the little girl, cutting her steak for her, and telling her all about the sheep shearing each May. Molly loved lambs and Sarah's account of wool gathering fascinated Molly. Sarah could feel Chuck's eyes on her, on her and Molly. Sarah's unanswered question hung in the air during dinner, not oppressive but surprising and exciting.

She had not premeditated her question. It had just formed itself and she asked it, her heart speaking without her head interposing. She had no regrets - she just wanted to know the answer.

Molly was eating a bite of pie, and, her mouth full, she grinned at Chuck and spoke, her words crusty. "Chuck, isn't Miss Sarah beautiful? She looks like that angel in my picture bible, the one you gave me. Remember the Good-Tidings angel, the one that...e-nun-cee-a-ted...to the shepherds?"

"'Annunciated', sweetie. But that was a brave try. That word's bigger than you are by about a foot."

He paused. "And," Chuck looked away from Molly and into Sarah's eyes, "Yes." He paused until Sarah's eyes grew wide with understanding. "Yes. Absolutely, yes. Yes, she does, Molly."

Molly clapped her pie-smeared hands stickily together, enjoying her literary success. Sarah dropped her eyes and looked at her own hands, feeling the intense rush of heat to her face. She knew she was bright red. She felt Ellie bump shoulders with her. "What just happened?" Ellie asked in a whisper.

"Everything," Sarah answered in one word. She did not know how it would work or how it would happen. It would.

But she would absolutely marry Chuck Bartowski.

_Good tidings of great joy!_

She was annunciating it to herself - and silently to the world. She would shout it aloud one day soon. She would.

_Yes, absolutely, yes!_

* * *

A/N2: Still easing into Book Three. Tune in next chapter for Carina's plan...and some other stuff...in and around our favorite, troubled little town. Thoughts? Love to hear from you.

A/N3: Kierkegaard's amazing _Philosophical Fragments _has as its epigraph a paraphrase of a line of Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night. _The paraphrase is: _Better well hanged than ill wed_. Our chapter title twists K's paraphrase. Shakespeare's original line is in Act 1, Scene 5: _Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage._


	23. Secrets and Numbers

A/N1: Getting everything ready for the stretch run, although we aren't there yet.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

_Secrets and Numbers_

* * *

After dinner, coffee and goodbyes, Ellie took Molly back to Mrs. Fitzsimmons and took herself to bed for a nap. Devon went to care for Johnny.

Unsure why Ellie hadn't mentioned the incident with Daniel, Chuck watched her and the little girl as they went down the street. He glanced at Sarah and she seemed deep in thought too, but there was a smile playing on her lips.

"We should git along, lovebirds," Casey muttered.

Chuck walked with Casey and Sarah down the narrow street alongside The Bar None. They turned and walked past the rear door of Montgomery's Law Office and stopped at the rear door of the Post Office.

Casey took out his heavy silver watch and looked at it. "Time, or near enough." Chuck looked around. The streets of Idaho Falls had emptied and the cool, fall afternoon now seemed hushed, waiting.

Chuck glanced up at the sky, blue forever and cloudless. Looking at Sarah, who was watching him, he realized that her eyes were a counterpart to the sky. He nodded to Casey, and Casey opened the door.

The three of them entered the large backroom. A single table, with a large top and tall, dominated the room. Wooden trays full of letters occupied one end of the table, a brass scale stood on the other. Bags marked 'U.S. Postal Service' stood in a crowd in one corner. Attached to one wall was a large wooden box, covering nearly all of the wall, and divided into smaller, rectangular boxes, some of which were empty, others of which contained envelopes or small packages. Carina Miller was standing on the opposite side of the table, a map open in front of her.

Beside her stood Shotgun Gert.

Carina raised an eyebrow at Sarah and Casey. "You brought company, I see," she remarked.

"Yes, you too." Carina nodded.

Chuck rejoiced to see Gert clothed - she appeared to be in one of Carina's dresses, the red one. Standing there, in red, she looked more Gert, less Shotgun.

"Casey, Sarah," Chuck said, gesturing to them and then to Gert, "this is Shotgun Gert."

Carina's eyes widened. "You two have met?"

Chuck ducked his head slightly; Gert smirked. "Yes," Gert said, "we've met. Didn't think to tell you, Carina. He and I didn't talk...about this stuff," Gert gestured toward the map. She looked up at Chuck. "We had an Edenic theological discussion...a discussion in the nude," she said with a wink and a snicker.

Sarah wheeled to look at Chuck, her eyes flashing. Chuck waved his arms like a windmill, hoping to avert disaster.

"No, no, _we _weren't in the nude. Just Miss Shotgun, er, Miss Gert." Sarah's face turned red, but not from embarrassment.

Chuck continued windmilling. "No, she was nude, um, naked, um, well, unclothed. And I knew because, looking at her, I saw… I felt…I saw how cold it was...er, no, no, that's not...Well, yes, but…Hard...No, I mean it's hard to explain."

Gert's snicker became a hearty laugh. "Like Adam and Eve in the cool of the Garden..." She kept laughing. When she caught her breath, she grinned at Chuck. "You are funny, Mister."

Gert looked at Sarah apologetically. "It wasn't his fault, Miss. I was getting ready to bathe and he came knocking - and I answered as God made me, not a covering leaf in sight. But, as soon as he saw me, he spun like a top and talked to me the whole time with his back turned. Well, least until I put on my duster." She nodded toward the garment on a chair in the corner. "Then we made...conversation...face-to-face. Truth be told, I was the one who enjoyed the view most that day. He's worth seeing, coming and _going_."

Carina had her hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing. Glancing from Chuck to Sarah, she shook her head. "Boston, Boston - what were you doing out there, waylaying naked Gert?"

Chuck flinched. "Just following up on a task the sheriff asked me to do, that's all."

All the women - and Casey - eyed him. Sarah asked the question: "What task was that, Chuck?"

"Following up on Miss Reynold's visit to the railroad camp on the day she was murdered."

Carina gave Chuck the once-over. "So, you're a detective now, and a teacher, and a preacher? Talk about wearing lots of hats…"

Chuck smiled weakly at Sarah. Her eyes had softened but her posture remained tense. "I'm just a teacher."

He put out his hand, palm up, to Sarah, an invitation. She took it but whispered as she moved closer to him. "We need to talk. Later."

Carina watched Chuck and Sarah for a moment, then shifted her attention to Casey. "Casey, I'm glad to see you. Sarah, you too."

Carina straightened and her tone became business-like. "Chuck knows this already, and so does Gert, but you two don't. I'm an employee of The Pinkerton Detective Agency, and I am here in disguise, working on a case - The Numbers Gang."

Chuck heard Sarah's small gasp. He saw Casey nodding as if he had expected to hear the words. Carina continued. "Someone in town hired me - I can't say who and won't, so don't ask - to bring the Numbers Gang to justice. Chuck went riding with me the other night," - Chuck felt Sarah turn to look at him - "and we found a hideout of theirs. They found us, but we got away. Not before I got winged, however." Carina gestured to her side. "So, they know we were there, but I am positive they did not identify us." Carina looked at Chuck but did not explain.

"I told Chuck that night that I believe there is a tie between the Numbers Gang to David Shaw, but I do not understand the nature of the tie. I hope to capture them and to find evidence to bring Shaw down with them. To that end, I've not only been doing my own...snooping, but I have had Anna Wu's girls talking to the railroad camp men, and, well, to all their Johns, trying to pick up scraps of information from pillow talk. I've also had Gert keeping a watch on the camp. From the beginning, my gut told me that the Numbers Gang had something to do with the railroad. Thanks to Gert, I now have confirmation of that. We were sure of it already, but…"

Carina paused. She looked at Gert. "You tell them, Gert. You put it together and pulled it off."

Gert nodded. "I noticed that there was irregular traffic between the camp and the Shaws. Now, that's not so surprising, since Shaw is a big stockholder muck-a-muck. But I noticed that two days before Numbers Gang struck, a rider from the Shaw's always came to camp - not always the same man, I suspect the rider is just a _mule_ if you understand me - and he always showed up with a courier's bag.

"He showed up yesterday. Camp's nearly empty, but the office staff is all still there. I was waiting for him along the trail later. He stopped and I...showed him some things that persuaded him to...dismount. I cajoled him to take a drink - preparing ourselves for the main event...but I mixed the liquor with herbs and potions to make a man sleep.

"He took several swigs of encouragement then nodded off. I peeked inside the courier bag. It was full of papers and official stuff, but there was a single sheet with the words, _Train. Monday._ There was a checkmark beside the words, in a different color pencil. I don't know if that was an order that Shaw sent and that got seen, or if it was a report to Shaw so he'd know. I think it was an order and the check the response. Anyways, I put it back and pulled the man's pants down, so he'd think he'd gotten...lucky, and I left. I'm pretty sure he won't be saying anything about it, and he was only out for a half-hour."

"Right," Carina said. "We know that communication between the camp and the Shaws' ranch has been going on and we know how it has. The Gang plans to hit the train tomorrow. We also suspect that the camp contact is one of the office staff members."

"It's Thad Howell," Chuck said.

The room was silent for a breath.

"Boston! How do you know that? Why don't I know that?" Carina's face was a shade of red that clashed with her hair. She glared like a midday desert sun.

He felt Sarah intensify the pressure on his hand, support.

"That's hard to explain. Let me just say that when I visited the camp, just before I saw...I _met_ Gert, I talked to Howell. He said something while I was in the room. It was words like Number One used during our hold-up," he looked at Carina, then Casey, "and he said it in that same sepulcher voice. You remember, don't you? 'You shouldn't have run.'" Chuck mimicked the voice, "You know, in that deathly, unconcerned tone?"

Carina's eyes had gone wide. "You remember his exact words, Boston? You can still hear how he said them?"

"Yeah, I don't forget...very much."

"Or at all," Carina said. "And you talked about my observational skills."

Chuck shuffled his feet. "Well, I see things."

He felt Sarah squeeze his hand again.

Carina huffed. "I guess so. Wish you'd told me this before."

"I had no proof, Carina. Mainly...just a memory of a voice, some words. And that night, we were at the hideout before I could tell you, then we were chased and shot at, and then you were bleeding and faint, and then I...I just didn't. Sorry."

"It's okay." She gave him a smile that warmed as it grew. "You're right, it wouldn't have materially changed anything if you had told me. We would've still needed proof, and we still don't have any. Nothing that Shaw couldn't deny or deflect. He's good at obscuring his footprints, that one. Always more than one explanation." She shook her head in reluctant admiration.

"So...It was likely that someone in the camp office was involved, but I hadn't suspected Howell in particular. He seems, I don't know, too much his own man to be Shaw's lackey." She stared at nothing for a moment, thinking. "But we know that the Gang is planning to hit the train. Given the timetable, it will be the one that is due in town tomorrow afternoon. And given what Chuck just told us - assuming he's right, and I am will make that assumption - we know who leads them.

After another moment's reflection, Carina put her finger down on the map. "There are only two places where this could happen, assuming that they plan to force the train to stop. If it's Howell, then my guess is he won't risk derailment. Too much of a chance of things going sideways. No, he'll obstruct the rails, somewhere along the route, in a place where the engineer will see the obstruction and stop."

Chuck and Sarah and Casey all stepped to the table and looked down at Carina's finger. "Here," she said, "I'll bet my ass - and that's an impressive bet, as any gentleman who follows me will attest - that it happens here."

Casey nodded. "I agree. I rode fer the Union near the end o' the War. Joined late, just a boy. Good rider. Rode cavalry with George Armstrong Custer." Everyone looked at Casey.

He gave them a warning glare. "He weren't the fool dandy people say, tho I doan know what happened at The Li'l Bighorn. Alls I know is that he was shure a planner, real careful-like. We...stopped some trains...We rode with Sheridan through the Shenandoah Valley. _The Burning_." Casey dropped his eyes, shrugged sadly, slowly looked up. No one spoke. When Casey did at last, his voice was hoarse. "I agree, that's the place I'd choose. Custer woulda chose it."

"Good," Carina responded.

"But," Casey went on, "I got a question. Dan'l Shaw's buddy Vincent tried to kill Chuck here last night. I killed him instead…"

"I heard that, Casey."

"Well, Carina, Vincent was wearin' the same costume as the Numbers Gang. He must-a had it wi' 'im, say, in his saddlebags. So, is the Numbers Gang…_minus_ one, ya think?"

Carina shook her head. "No. The only break in the pattern Gert discovered, the pattern of riders, is when the sheep were killed. No rider from the Shaw ranch before that, as best we can tell. It was someone else, pretending to be the Numbers Gang. My guess, given what happened last night, is that it was Daniel Shaw, and Vincent, and some other Shaw hands."

"I agree," Chuck offered. He went on. "I also agree with Carina about Thad Howell. He's no man's lackey. If he's in this with David Shaw, there's an agenda of Howell's own it advances. I have a hard time seeing how he'd let himself be put to something as lowdown as driving sheep off a cliff."

"I hope so," Carina added, "because one of them, Howell or someone, _will_ finger David Shaw. Men get talkative when silence guarantees a noose."

Casey looked at Carina. "So, what's the plan?"

Carina smiled. "I thought you'd never ask. There are five of them, armed. There are five of us if everyone wants in. -Good. Now, Chuck and Sarah are not gunhands…"

Sarah cleared her throat, held her head up. "Um, actually, I'm as quick and accurate with a gun as anyone in the territory. I'm...passable...with knives too." Chuck gazed at her in fond amazement; she squeezed his hand.

Carina looked at Sarah, wide-eyed, her mouth open. It took her a moment to come to a further reaction. "Well, well, Blondie, hiding skills, eh? That's good news and makes me like my plan better.

"I want you and Chuck to pick up Howell at the camp and follow him. If at any point, he seems not to be heading where we expect, one of you will need to circle around and get to the rest of us. The rest of us, me, Gert and Casey, will head for this spot," she pointed again at the map. "I want to beat them there and get prepared. We will wait until they start work. I assume they'll cut a tree and drag it across the tracks." She glanced up at Casey and he grunted in agreement. Once they are all involved in the work, we swoop in and capture them. With any luck, we won't have to fire anything more than a warning shot. We won't catch them with their pants pulled down, but we'll catch them with their sleeves rolled up…It will be over before the train comes, and we can ensure no railroad men or passengers get hurt."

Chuck raised his hand. Carina grinned. "Chuck, this isn't one of your classes, and even if it were, you wouldn't need to raise your hand."

"Sorry, but why can't Sarah and I just go with you?"

"Because I am expecting Howell to make a stop on the way. He had to have his Numbers Gang costume hidden somewhere, and maybe other things. I want you to figure out where he's stashing things. Maybe you'll find something there that incriminates David Shaw."

"Oh, okay. But Sarah's only got her church dress."

Carina looked Sarah up and down. "We can manage." She returned to the map. "You two must be in sight of the camp office by 3 pm when the day ends. It'll take Howell forty to forty-five minutes to cover the ground. The train should pass through at 4:30 pm. Gert and I will meet you outside of town here," she pointed to a spot and Casey noted it.

"All right. So, that's the plan. Good luck everyone." She started talking to Casey about rifles and ammunition, other details. Gert grabbed her duster and left saying nothing else, although she gave Chuck a smile as she passed.

Sarah tugged on Chuck's hand. "Let's go for a walk, Chuck."

* * *

Once they were out the door, Sarah let go of Chuck's hand. She hustled around the Post Office, to the main street, and then toward the schoolhouse. Even with his long legs, Chuck had to hurry to keep up. She was on a mission. Sarah passed the schoolhouse and climbed the hill to the cemetery. It was empty now, too, as the streets nearly were.

Sarah opened the gate and walked through, leaving it open for Chuck but not waiting for him. She reached the massive tree in the center of the grove and sat down on the bench that ran around it. She sat on its far side, out of view of anyone coming up from the schoolhouse.

Chuck braced for anger. He remembered her response to finding Carina in his lap.

"Sarah, I didn't mean to…"

She grabbed his hand again and pulled him toward her with real force. Unprepared for the manhandling, Chuck lost his balance. He landed on top of Sarah. She somehow contrived to turn herself as he fell so he landed on top of her. He got one hand down in time to catch some of his own weight. He looked into her face, just beneath his own. Her eyes were dilated and heavy with desire. He felt the white heat of it between them, burning the mellow of October.

Sarah reached and pulled his hand from the bench so that his full weight pressed down upon her. She was panting slightly, her eyes now closed but her lips opened. She lifted her mouth to him and kissed him, a kiss that pressed the full ardor of her passion against him. They made no attempt at finesse; each consumed the other; each plundered the mouth of the other, laying claim to all.

When Sarah let her head settle back on the bench, she smiled up at Chuck, her eyes still aflame with passion but also with a tincture of merriment. "I think I have had enough of walking in on or hearing about you and other women, Chuck. But when you kiss me like that, I know where you stand."

She closed her eyes for a second - he felt her draw breath against his weight, move beneath him, squirm and rise. He started to get up, but she locked her arms around him. "No, not yet. It feels so delicious beneath you, and I don't know when we'll spoon like this again, at least not until all this ends."

She lifted her head for a quick kiss. When she lowered it, her eyes had become shy and a little guarded. "Did you mean it - at dinner, Chuck? Yes?"

He nodded. "Yes, you know I think you are an angel, right?"

"Chuck!" She punched him.

"And, yes, Sarah, on all that's holy, yes. I love you and I want you to be your husband."

"You're not...upset that I asked you?"

"No, why would I be? It was flattering, surprising, and the most exciting question anyone has ever asked me."

"You said that you wanted me as your wife on the overlook, you know." Sarah gently pushed against him and they sat up, taking positions beside each other.

"I remember."

"I haven't been able to keep much else on my mind, Chuck. I guess it just bubbled over."

He turned her chin to him. "I love you when you're bubbling over."

She laughed. "So, do you often ogle naked women at railroad camps?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, never. And, to be fair to me, Shotgun Gert was wearing a shotgun."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Could you tell if the shotgun was cold too?"

Chuck realized he would lose this exchange no matter what. "I turned around, Sarah. Whatever else is true, there was no ogling, no fixing of the eyes."

Sarah's eyes narrowed still further. "Oh, yes, there was."

"No, Sarah, I didn't."

"Oh, I know. But Shotgun Gert obviously was ogling your backside."

Chuck shook his head in defeat. "'_Butt_, you mean."

Sarah looked into the distance as if considering the synonymy. "Yes, I guess _butt_ will do, although it is not a word in proper young woman's vocabulary."

"Not in King James', either," Chuck said in mock-complaint.

They sat together under the tree for a long time, talking about a future they hoped they might have.

* * *

As dusk gathered, they walked down the hill and along the main street. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was glad to welcome Sarah, and Ellie and Molly were sure they could make room for her in their room.

Casey stopped by and made sure Sarah had a place. He was leaving her wagon at the stables and returning to the ranch in the one he drove that morning. He told Sarah he would make sure her father knew where she was, and that he would see the two of them the next day.

"Be damn careful. Watch Howell - and watch for Dan'l. I done gone and got my hopes up fer you two, an' I doan wanna be disappointed, ya hear me?" They told him they would be careful and then he left.

The five of them - Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, Molly, and Mrs. Fitzsimmons, had a late supper together and then Molly asked if Sarah could help her get ready for bed. Sarah was delighted to help the little girl.

Chuck and Ellie were drinking coffee with Mrs. Fitzsimmons when she stopped talking and listened. "Huh. No more noise of chattering from your room, Miss Bartowski." Ellie got up and went to her room. Chuck followed her but stood back. Ellie opened the door, looked in, then stepped aside so that Chuck could peek. He did.

Sarah was asleep in her dress. Molly had pillowed her head on Sarah's stomach, and Molly also was asleep. The only sound was that of their synchronized breathing. Chuck blinked as the scene melted. He wiped his eyes.

Ellie put her hand on Chuck's back. He turned and she hugged him.

"I feel the same way about her, Chuck, the same way you do, Molly does. She's my friend, my best friend, already. Family. We do whatever it takes for our family. This has all got to work out somehow.

"So, are you going to tell me some, at least, of what you've been keeping from me, or am I going to wander in the wilderness for years, waiting for tablets of stone from which to read the secrets?"

Chuck sighed. He whispered. "You know how much I get paid. It wasn't any golden calf that lured me here."

He tiptoed to his bedroom door and opened it for his sister. He kept his voice a whisper. "Come in, Ellie, and sit down. I will tell you why I came to Idaho Falls."

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time as our heroes attempt to thwart a train robbery.

Thoughts? This train runs on response-coal. Love to hear from you.


	24. Feed the Heart with Coal

A/N1: What's that line in the great Amanda Shires song? "When you need a train, it never comes."

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR:

_Feed the Heart with Coal_

* * *

Monday, October 12, 1885Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck was exhausted. He was so tired that he could neither keep his eyes open nor close them. They were half-and-half.

The ceiling of his room seemed to rise and sink above him, stretching him, compressing him, a human accordion.

His conversation with Ellie had left him tense and unsettled.

She had known that Chuck had changed after the death of their parents, but she had never suspected the visions. She had recognized that something happened to him, that he...drifted from time to time. She had understood it as his staring off into space, his being haunted by the death of their parents - but haunted _metaphorically_. She had a hard time accepting that he had been having visions for years and had hidden it from her.

That was bad enough — but then he had to explain everything about Jill Roberts — specifically, her occupation. This was not as much of a shock to Ellie. She suspected it but never asked Chuck about it. Molly said a few things to Ellie that had strengthened her suspicions, although the little girl did not understand how Jill had been supporting them.

But the disaster was the explanation of how the visions and Jill's horrible death had led Chuck to Idaho Falls, intent on killing Daniel Shaw. It outraged Ellie; she was livid.

"So, you crossed the country, train to stagecoach, taking a teaching job for which you may be the most over-qualified candidate in human history, all so you, Charles Irving Bartowski, a man of deep principles and even deeper kindness, could kill a man that a mystical vision revealed to be the murderer of your friend?" She took a breath like she had come up from beneath the water, then plunged ahead. "And then you fall in love with the woman who is that man's very reluctant fiancée, further embroiling yourself in and contributing to the troubles of an already troubled town? Is that about right? Have I summed it up?"

Chuck sat dumbstruck on his bed. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Lifted a hand and put it down. At last: "Well, when you put it like that…"

They sat in his room, Ellie in the armchair and Chuck on the bed, and she glowered at him. For a long time. Ellie stood, her arms akimbo, frowning. Then she hugged Chuck's neck. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she said through a soft sigh. "I should have known...the visions...known you were struggling...or known how _much_ you were struggling. I was just so desperate myself, mom and dad dead and buried, so lost and alone, so frightened for me and for you, I just couldn't cope with anything more, any more loss…"

"Shhhh. Ellie," Chuck said, stroking his sister's dark hair, "shhhh. No brother could have asked for more from a sister. You are my hero. I knew how much it all was, and I didn't want to make it worse. And then, as time went by, I just got used to the visions being my secret, my burden…And when I followed Daniel..."

"Did you...do you..._believe_ you can kill a man, Chuck, even one as...as vile as Daniel Shaw? I don't doubt your vision of him, Chuck. How could I when I know you and when my animal eyes show me he is a monster? Out there in the street today — he told you he killed Jill, didn't he?" Ellie let go of Chuck's neck and pulled back so she could see his face.

Chuck nodded. "He wanted me to know that he knows what I know. That he sent Vincent to kill me like a sheep. That there's nothing I can do to avenge Jill or stop him — or protect Sarah.

"As for your question, Ellie — I honestly don't know. Now I reckon I could do it; now I doubt it. I've been practicing with a gun. Nehi's been teaching me. But I admit, if I stood against Daniel, he will kill me, most likely. But it seems as if events keep pushing in that direction…It feels...destined, like Ahab's confrontation with Moby-Dick. Shaw is my inexorable fate. 'He tasks me; he heaps me'." Chuck spoke the last in a bitter Ahab-ish voice.

Ellie chuckled softly, unhappily "I guess if you start the day quoting Melville, you might as well end it quoting that madman. He was crazier than his Ahab, I wager."

Chuck made a face. "Better deranged balance than balanced dullness?"

Ellie took a deep breath. "Is that commentary on Melville or on yourself, Chuck?"

He shrugged. "Maybe both?"

"Guns aren't your business, Chuck." Ellie blew out a defeated breath, a spout of exasperation. "But...I don't know, I don't...Who am I to argue with visions...with destiny? How can I argue with white whales…" she gave Chuck a sharp, expressive look, "...with dumb brutes?"

She pinched her lips for a second, then went on in frustrated forbearance. "Just know this: if you get yourself killed, I will kill you again myself, much, much more slowly and painfully. Is that clear? Devon has taught me a lot."

They hugged again and Ellie gave him another glowering look and held his eyes with hers.

She shook her head and grinned in resignation. "There's a beautiful blonde asleep with a tiny brunette in my room. They love you too, Chuck. We're all hoping for a life...here...with you. I know that can't happen with Daniel Shaw here — but that doesn't mean you have to kill or let him kill you. You aren't Ahab — as that voice a minute ago proved."

She left his room, shaking her head still.

* * *

Their conversation kept replaying in his mind.

So too his vow to kill Shaw; his promise to Sarah that he would not.

Carina's plan.

Shaw's goading, foul boast.

He was all-too-aware, all-too-awake to Sarah's presence in the room just down the hall. He could still feel her body beneath him. He tried not to dwell on it, on her.

Passages of _Moby-Dick _passed through his mind, passages of _Hamlet _too. Scripture. The hells of Swedenborg, as Swedenborg described them — the hell of the liar, the hell of the robber, the hell of the vengeful. Down a brass column, as Swedenborg told his tale, descending into the unhappiness, the vastation of souls. _Hells_.

Passages. The ragtag assemblage of memorized or remembered words, the engrafted words of his life. He was made of word-stuff. Flesh words, bone words, breath words.

Passages.

The ceiling rose and sank, rose and sank, a bellows. Chuck was a lump of coal, first fanned nearly into flame, orange and glowing, then cooled, grey-white and ashen. _Smoke._

Smoke.

He smelled smoke. Or maybe he just imagined it.

Smoke. Flames.

He got up and left his room, moved to the front of the house, and looked out the window. At the other end of the street, the schoolhouse burned.

Aflame.

For a moment, he thought it was a vision, — then he knew it wasn't.

The schoolhouse was burning.

Chuck ran back to his room and jammed his bare feet into his boots. He ran out of Mrs. Fitzsimmons', out into the dust of the street, and, gaining speed, he sprinted along the main street.

Others were emerging. He saw Anna Wu come through the doors of The Bar None, Morgan right behind her. He was buckling his belt; she was tying her robe.

Devon came out of his office. He had a bucket in his hand. Chuck sprinted past them, and he knew they were running behind him, following. On one side of the schoolhouse, there was a well. A bucket on a pulley-line was there to lower a bucket. Usually, there were two other buckets stacked against the wall of the schoolhouse.

The flames were leaping up, a hellish riot, from the back of the schoolhouse. Chuck reached the well and hit the pulley's crank handle, allowing the bucket to plunge down into the water, the rope unspooling fast. He heard the splash and then they began to haul the bucket up by hand, ignoring the handle (too slow). He got the bucket up. As he did, Devon came with another bucket. Chuck untied his and gave Devon a look. He nodded and grabbed the rope, securing it to the bucket he had gotten and dropped it into the well. Chuck ran to the backside of the schoolhouse and threw his bucket of water on the burning wall. He returned to the well, passing Devon as he did. Morgan was there, pulling up another bucket. Anna Wu was beside him, helping. As it came up, Morgan untied it and ran. Chuck tied his bucket and let it fall. He brought it up as Devon arrived. Their eyes locked and Devon shook his head and frowned. Chuck untied his bucket and ran. He splashed it against the wall.

The flames were spreading despite the water. Chuck's could now hear cries from along the street. "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

The roof was now burning, the flames dancing greedily along the top of the structure, reaching toward the sky as if hoping for kindling there, more to burn. _Burn. _Chuck ran back to the well. He saw Langston Graham and his wife, the Beckmans, Roan Montgomery, Carina, Zondra, Lou. Everyone had a bucket, something to carry water. Troughs were being used to fill the buckets.

Sarah and Ellie arrived and fell to work. A line formed from the well to the schoolhouse and full buckets handed along the line to Chuck at its end. He doused the building again and again. It was too little. The flames were winning, claiming their prize. The town would lose the schoolhouse. It was now an inferno. As he waited for another bucket to reach him, Chuck refocused, looking through one of the schoolhouse windows instead of at the schoolhouse.

Someone was inside. Inside the burning building. Spinning, turning, gazing up at the flames now consuming the ceiling. It was Athaliah Justus. Chuck ran to the front of the schoolhouse, right into Langston Graham.

"Langston! Mrs. Justus is inside! I just saw her!" Chuck dashed up the stairs. The red doors were burning. He kicked them, and they flew open. A furnace blast of flame and heat, hell's own exhalation, billowed into Chuck, knocking him backward and down the steps. He rolled to the bottom. He rose to his knees and then stood.

He could see her. So could Langston and many others. Dancing. Spinning. Cackling amid the crackling flames, audible even in the infernal roar.

"Burn! Burn with cleansing fire. Drive out the evil one! Burn! Burn! Consume the altar of the wicked!"

At that moment, a section of the ceiling collapsed onto her, and a second later, the entire roof fell. It buried her, a tomb of flame and ash.

"Momma!" Chuck spun as he heard Ruth's scream. Langston had grabbed her and was holding her. In their robes and pajamas and boots and barefoot, Idaho Falls watched their schoolhouse burn and heard Ruth weep.

* * *

Diane Beckman had taken Ruth back to her house. The sun was rising, a sad yellow visitation on the blackened schoolhouse.

The fire consumed the building and consumed Athaliah Justus. The charred and smoking remains were too hot to approach. People stood in the lengthy yellow fall morning, staring at the embers.

Sarah took Chuck's hand. He looked at her and she gave him a sad smile, laced with defiance. "She did it to herself, Chuck. Hatred consumes itself, is its own fuel. 'For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.' This is not your fault, do you hear me?"

Ellie joined them, standing on Chuck's other side. "Sarah's right." After that, they stood together in silence. Sheriff Constance and Nehi added to their number and to the silence.

Langston Graham walked over to them. He stopped in front of Chuck.

"We will rebuild it, Chuck. You can tell us how you want it, if there should be changes." Chuck said nothing, but Langston took him by the shoulder. "Don't let Athaliah win; this is awful. We can overcome it. The town will take care of Ruth; she's nearly a grown woman. We'll see to her needs. Together, Chuck, like you said in your sermon. One ship, one town, a common fate."

Langston rubbed Chuck's shoulder and turned to look at the wreckage. "You know," he said, his tone sad and speculative all at once, "awful as this is, I can't help but ponder that Athaliah had to burn down the church to burn down our school...I don't know what that means, but it means something…" He stood for a moment then left them, heading for the mortuary.

* * *

Mrs. Fitzsimmons had prepared breakfast for an army. She had set up a table in front of her house, heaped with food. Smudged and exhausted townsfolk came by to talk, eat scrambled eggs and biscuits, and to drink coffee. The mood was somber. The conversation was muted and restrained.

But Mrs. Fitzsmmons was cheerful, kind. Molly carried a tray with strawberry preserves, serving anyone who wanted to sweeten the bitter morning.

Chuck held a cup of coffee, watching as Sarah helped Molly make the rounds with the preserves, and as Ellie assisted Mrs. Fitzsimmons in plating food.

"Well, Chuck," - it was Roan Montgomery, a coffee cup in his hand - "Idaho Falls turns out to be an...exciting place, no?" There was no levity or irony in his voice. Chuck nodded. Roan continued. "Mrs. Justus' husband left her money. It will go to Ruth. That doesn't make up for the loss of her mother, but know that I will see to Ruth, make sure she inherits all that belongs to her."

Chuck looked at Roan. "I wondered about her husband, Ruth's father."

"He was my friend," Roan said after a moment. "He worked for the railroad. Oversaw the initial laying of tracks in this part of the country. He died in an accident, an explosion. Athaliah was always...extreme...but she never really recovered from his death. I don't pretend to understand the human heart — who could? — but I suspect she believed, or at least half-believed, she could live a life that would merit his resurrection, that she could win him back if she denied herself everything else, all sources of comfort, including a daughter's love…" He trailed off and into a small, sad shrug. "She is...she was always a…difficult woman."

Neither spoke. They sipped their coffee together.

"Roan," Chuck said after a few moments, "what's really going on between Jack Walker and David Shaw? Why is it spilling over, onto Daniel and Sarah? You know something about this, that much is clear."

"I may not say, Chuck. As Jack's attorney, I am bound to keep his secrets."

"But you can give hints, signs?"

"I suppose I have seemed a little like the Delphic Oracle, haven't I?"

"It starts with Rena Shaw and her death, doesn't it?"

Roan gave Chuck sidelong glance. "I won't say it doesn't."

"Spoken like a true lawyer, if that's not a contradiction in terms."

Roan laughed softly. "I will say this, Chuck. I don't understand it all myself. And that's an admission of ignorance, not a lawyer's cleverness. Someone needs to figure it out soon. Or, who knows, maybe we should just trust the profundities of Divine Providence?" Roan gave Chuck an inscrutable look, nodded toward the schoolhouse, and walked away.

Chuck went inside and washed up. He crawled shakily into his bed.

A moment later, he heard his door open, close, and lock. Sarah climbed in beside him, taking him into her arms. He turned to her and took her in his.

She had washed up too, but they both still smelled of smoke.

They slept.

* * *

Ellie knocked on Chuck's door. "Hey," she whispered, but loud enough to be heard inside, "there's someone here to see you."

Chuck unwrapped himself from Sarah and stood. He looked at his pocket watch on the nightstand. It was almost 1 pm. He opened the door.

Expecting the guest to be in the living room Chuck, it surprised Chuck when he saw Carina standing next to Ellie. Carina had a carpetbag in her hand.

"I told you two," Carina commented drily, "a preacher _first_, and a room _second_." She laughed, but she forced it. Ellie covered her eyes, pretending outrage.

"We're dressed," Sarah said. "No preacher yet."

Carina entered the room. "May a preacher marry himself? — Wait, that sounded wrong. You know what I mean." She held the carpetbag out to Sarah. "A change of clothes...for this afternoon." Sarah took the bag and went to her room.

"Thanks, Carina," Chuck said. "Have you met Ellie?"

"Yes, at the train station, remember. Briefly. And again at the door. Well, I've got to go, schedule to keep." She gave Chuck a pointed look.

"Right."

Carina exited and Ellie stayed in place, and eyebrow cocked. Chuck started to speak. Ellie held up a hand. "No, don't. Don't tell me. Just be safe. Keep Sarah safe."

After Ellie left, Chuck got dressed. He had put away his Boston suit. He put on his heavy pants, flannel shirt, vest, and hat. He reached up into the top of his closet where he had put his gun belt after Ellie and Molly visited his room. As he pulled it down, a book fell from the shelf with it. It landed on the floor, its cover up. Chuck stared down at it. It must have been shoved far in the back and got hooked by his gun belt, dragged down with it.

He bent down and picked the book up. It was a popular woman's novel of the time, _Ruth Hall: A Domestic Novel of the Present Time. _Chuck had heard of it and seen other copies. It was by Fanny Fern, a popular novelist. It must have belonged to Ida Reynolds.

_Ruth. _He gazed at the cover, then placed it on his nightstand when he heard a soft knock at his door.

He opened the door to the blonde rider.

Carin had given Sarah Zondra's black clothes. The fit was good, if not perfect. Sarah stepped quickly into the room. Only then did Chuck see the gun belt she wore low on her hips, the knife stuck tied around one of her boots.

Even though he had seen her dressed like that before, he had never seen her armed. He could not stop staring at her. She noticed and blushed. "Does this bother you? That I am comfortable dressed like this, just as I am in a dress?"

He leaned in and kissed her. "I love you, all of you, Sarah Walker. Although you scare me a bit in that outfit, and...I like it."

She gave him a wide smile. "That's close to how I feel about you, Preacher. When you do what you can do with words...it's like your hands are…on my body…"

Chuck tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. "I'm not sure those are Sunday-sermon thoughts."

She blinked happily. "Maybe not. But I don't know why the preacher's wife can't imagine her Sunday...dinner."

Chuck shut his eyes and shook his head. "Okay, no more of that, Miss Walker. Not dressed in that get-up. I can't stand it, and we have...work to do."

Sarah nodded. "Can you go to the stables and get us horses? Carina stopped in my room and told me she had them ready Jenny for you and a horse for me."

Chuck nodded. Sarah added, "Oh, and bring them around to your window. I have a jacket to put on, but I'd rather not have folks see me like this." She walked over and took her black hat from the peg on Chuck's wall where it had been since she left it in his room. She gave Chuck another kiss. He fastened the gun belt and hurried to the stables.

* * *

They tied the horses in a dark green stand of pines. Chuck and Sarah were on a hillside near the camp, the office in view beneath them. Most of the tents from Chuck's previous visit had been taken down — the camp seemed a hollow image of itself. At least the stench from the stream was no longer present.

Chuck checked his watch. It was nearly 3 pm. They saw people leaving the office, but not Howell.

Sarah glanced at Chuck's watch too. "He'll be leaving soon. We need to stay well back. It shouldn't be hard to trail him, but that means it wouldn't be hard for him to notice us. With any luck, he'll both be in a hurry and confident that no one is the wiser, and so he won't care about what's behind as much as what's ahead."

Chuck laughed. "You seem to have a firm, working knowledge of the criminal mind, Miss Walker."

She looked down, not laughing. "I do. My dad taught me well. Being around his friends taught me well. It's knowledge I'm ashamed of, but at least this time it can be put to good use."

Chuck took her hand, rubbing it with his thumb. "This is one place where successful cons and preaching have something in common. If a preacher is not speaking from a knowledge of sin, he cannot speak of grace. It's that...dark, dumb region of our heart that's deepest in us, Sarah, the region of willingness and unwillingness, of our faith and our doubt — and mapping that region does not make us unwilling or unfaithful, but it tells us how we might be, and how it might happen. There's no good that doesn't acknowledge its liability for evil - not on the underside of the sky, our side of it."

She leaned into him. "That's mighty articulate for a non-preacher on his way to stop a train robbery."

"I suppose, but…"

"Howell!" Sarah said, pointing. "There he is."

Howell had stepped out of the office. He looked around quickly, then went around the building to its side. A moment later, he rode his horse around to the front and started out of camp. Chuck and Sarah quickly mounted and started after Howell.

* * *

Outside of camp, Howell increased his pace, pushing his horse to a canter. Chuck and Sarah did the same, hanging back and using any cover that came their way. They had to let Howell nearly vanish from sight to minimize the chance that a stray backward glance would reveal them.

Howell rode on for about twenty minutes into rougher territory, heading in the direction Carina predicted. But after a few more minutes, he slowed and stopped. He dismounted and hurried to a large pine. It had a few limbs, a few branches. A black scar on its side showed that lightning had struck it. Howell got on his knees at the bottom of the tree and reached into the ground among its exposed roots.

Chuck and Sarah watched from a distance, behind a set of trees. Howell pulled up a package, something wrapped in oilcloth. He unfolded the cloth, revealing a set of black clothes. He changed quickly, becoming Number One. He put his work clothes in the cloth and hid them where the Gang clothes had been. He mounted and rode on. Chuck and Sarah got to the spot. Chuck jumped down and scrambled to the place Howell had knelt.

Reaching in, he found the oilcloth package. Nothing else seemed to be there, but then he noticed a much smaller piece of oilcloth shoved into the very back of the hole. Chuck pulled it out and unfolded it. Carina's jewelry, taking in the hold-up was there, along with several other very expensive-looking pieces. Number One had claimed the choicest of the small items stolen. Chuck wrapped them jewelry back up and stuffed it into his saddlebag. He climbed back on his horse, and they were on Howell's trail again.

* * *

Near the railroad tracks, Howell spurred his horse, picking up the pace still more. Chuck checked his watch. It was 3:35 pm. He had made good time. Chuck pocketed his watch and caught up with Sarah. They rode a little further but stopped when they heard voices.

They jumped down and tethered the horses. They crept to the edge of the rise that Howell had disappeared over. The voices grew louder. Howell, Number One, was giving orders.

"Good, you've started. Yes, good, that's the tree, the one with the black band around its lowest limb. I marked it the other day. Did you bring the mallet and the wedges?" One of the men nodded.

None had their bandanas on their faces. But Chuck knew no one except Howell. He had seen one or two of the faces at the railroad camp when he and Nehi walked through, but he knew no names to put with the faces.

One of the men spoke to Howell. "Hey, boss, how much ya reckin'll be on th' train, how much in gold?"

The man smiled at Howell, showing a gold tooth. Number Two.

"A lot. More than we can spend, even in shares. This is it. One last job — and we're done. After we divvy up the gold, we will never see each other again, right?"

Number Two nodded, his grin stretching his ugly face.

Chuck scanned the surroundings for a sign of Carina and Casey and Gert, but he saw nothing. He did not know if that meant they were well-hidden, or if it meant they weren't there.

Two of the men were taking turns chopping down the tree Howell marked. They made good headway, a smooth triangular divot was missing from the tree's trunk, the side facing the tracks. The men moved to the other side and began to cut it, opening a smaller divot on that side. The one who had been using the axe put it down and took up the mallet. The other held a wedge to the new opening, and the first man struck it once. The other man blew out a relieved breath and withdrew his hand. The first man struck the wedge again. Then he pushed another wedge into the opening and began to hammer it in. Chuck realized they were using the wedges to 'aim' the fall of the tree, to make sure, or as sure as they could, that when it fell, it would fall across the tracks.

Howell and Two watched. The final man had walked to a wagon and was positioning it near the tracks. Presumably, the gold was to be loaded on it.

Chuck felt Sarah's hand on his arm. "Carina never mentioned what they were hoping to take from the train, did she?"

"No, not a word. I was wondering about that and then...the fire. I forgot to ask her. I'm getting the impression that Carina is angling to do this without official help. She hasn't talked to the sheriff or Nehi, as far as I know. She said nothing about warning the railroad. I have the feeling she wants to capture the Gang on her own. Maybe she's angling to advance in The Pinkerton Agency."

Sarah nodded. "I'm sure it must be hard for women to advance. They're probably only barely tolerated. I can see how this would be a feather in her cap."

Chuck huffed. "As long as she doesn't get anyone killed. Do you think she's planning to capture them before they fell the tree? It's going to fall soon."

Sarah shrugged. "I guess we have to wait and see."

Chuck checked his watch. 4 pm. The train was due in a half-hour.

The tree was about to fall.

* * *

"Don't move!" Carina's voice rang out above the sound of the axe on wood.

The men stopped, frozen, taken by surprise.

Carina stepped into view from the other side of the tracks. She was wearing her man's outfit, and had a rifle in her hands, pointed obviously at Howell.

Casey emerged from behind a large tree near to Carina. He had a pistol in each hand. He smirked and grunted.

Gert was nowhere in sight.

Chuck saw the man near the wagon edge his hand toward his gun. Sarah saw it too and her gun was out and up and fired in one smooth motion. Dirt and grass exploded by the man's foot. He put his hands in the air.

Carina strode purposefully across the tracks. "The Numbers Gang, I presume. You'll need numbers when it comes time to decide the order of your hangings."

The situation seemed under control. Chuck heard the whistle of the train.

It took him a second, then he plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out his watch. 4:12 pm. The train was early.

He looked up. The whistle sounded again, more loudly. Everyone seemed to notice it at once. And, at that precise moment, a sudden breeze blew; the tree began to wobble. The train came into view, making very good speed, unexpected speed. It crossed the open ground toward the group. A loud sound of cracking filled the air. The tree fell, aimed perfectly across the tracks, where it slammed mightily to the ground, shaking the scene.

The scream of the engine's brakes came hard on the sound of the tree hitting the ground. The train would not have time to stop. It would ram the tree. Everyone near the tracks broke and ran. The brakes kept screaming.

Screaming.

* * *

A/N2: Chaos next time. See you then!

Leave me a comment?

Thanks to Beckster1213 for his efforts as pre-reader.


	25. Babel

A/N1: More story. One more chapter and then we are in the stretch run.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

_Babel_

* * *

Monday, October 12, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

The present topic is the ancient church in general and the fact that its inward worship was falsified and adulterated as time passed. Its outward worship accordingly suffered the same fate, because outward worship mirrors inward. The falsification and adulteration of inward worship is portrayed as Babel here.

-Swedenborg, _Secrets of Heaven_

* * *

Screaming.

The train's wheels were spinning backward, sparks flying as the engine skated on the tracks.

Carina had crossed the tracks to the side of the Gang, and of Chuck and Sarah, still obscured.

Chuck watched as Casey estimated the distance of the train and his own from the tracks.

The Gang scattered. Carina —- never once looking at the train —- ran after Howell. Howell was running near the tracks, toward the on-coming, screeching train. Number Two sprinted around the base of the tree and then parallel to the tracks, away from the scene.

The other three were running toward Chuck and Sarah, the lumberjack pair and one other. Sarah's earlier shot had alerted the men to Chuck and Sarah's presence, and the fastest of the three, not one of the lumberjacks, had his gun out. The other two were reaching for theirs.

Chuck reached for his, fumbled, and felt Sarah crash into him just as the man fired. Chuck rolled to the side with Sarah on top of him, then beneath him. He heard another shot. He turned to look at the men, but Sarah pushed on him, hard. "Chuck, my gun!" He saw her gun on the ground beside them.

He reached for the gun —- but he saw the train. It had slowed more than he thought possible. It hit the tree, skating slowly. For a split-second the train stopped, a wave, a tremble, ran its length from train to caboose, and then the tree skidded, yielded, rolled a half-turn. The scene became a still life, a _tableau vivant. _ Billowing smoke from the stack supplied the only motion.

Sarah got her hand on the gun before Chuck did. Still beneath him, she got off a shot, hitting the man who shot at them in the shoulder of his gun hand. His gun fell from his hand. Chuck rolled off Sarah. The other two men dove down, prone on the ground, guns up. The wounded man slumped to the ground beside them, clutching at his shoulder.

More shots. More misses. Sarah ducked behind a tree and Chuck did the same behind a neighboring one. He heard more shots and felt the bullets lodge into the trees. He got his gun out of the holster. Although he had held it many times in his lessons with Nehi, it felt like an alien thing in his hand, cold-bloodedly alive and malignant. He stared at it for a second, alarmed by it, afraid of it. He heard Sarah firing her gun and heard return fire as she spun behind her tree. Bark flew from the tree and into the air.

Chuck shook his head. He stepped halfway out from the tree and leveled his gun. But the moment he pulled the trigger, he lifted the barrel. The movement was tiny and not deliberate, but it meant that his shot went high, above the prone men. It was as though a beat of his heart tapped the barrel. He jumped back behind the tree as shots lodged in it.

"Hands up!" It was Casey's voice.

Chuck peeked out. Casey was behind the men, his guns waist-high, pointed at them. Chuck heard a shot, but it was not from Casey or anywhere near him. It came from near the train. Chuck refocused on Casey.

"Git up, ya scum. Tables turned this time. You're facin' my guns. Leave yers on the dirt."

The two unwounded men stood. The other man rolled over, moaning. Chuck glanced at Sarah. Dirt smudged her cheek and she had grass on her black clothes. She was okay and uninjured. But he could see uncertainty in her gaze as she looked at him, placing her gun in her holster. He stepped over to her and took her in his arm, kissing first her smudged cheek and then her lips.

She kissed him back then pushed him away firmly. "No time for that now, Chuck."

They walked up to Casey and the men. Chuck saw Sarah look at the wounded man, now on his feet and wobbling. He saw her blanch and look away. Chuck realized he still had his gun in his hand, and, feeling both powerless and foolish, he slipped it back into his holster as secretly as possible.

Casey was watching Chuck and Sarah with one eye, the prisoners with another. He shook his head. "I doan have-ta ask which o' you almost plugged me as I come runnin' ta help." Chuck turned red and Casey kept shaking his head. "Nope, I doan have-ta ask. Gather up their guns, Chuck, and let's git 'em down to the train."

Chuck gathered the men's guns. Casey motioned for the men to move toward the train. They started in that direction, one aiding the wounded man.

Sarah glanced at Chuck, his arms full of guns. Her face was still white, making the smudge on her cheek seem darker, almost a bruise.

"That's the first time I ever shot a human being, Chuck. I didn't like it -— I didn't like it at all." Her voice got quiet. "And, even though it was...necessary, I don't like that I could do it -— I don't like that most of all."

Chuck wanted to hug her or take her hand, but he couldn't. He smiled his sympathy and his love. "I love you, Sarah. And, hey," Chuck said, his jocular tone edged with self-recrimination, "at least you hit the bad guy. I almost hit the good guy."

Sarah smiled at him. She reached out and ran her fingers through his curly hair, closing her eyes as she did and knocking off his hat. He saw her color return. "My good guy. Thank God you are okay."

She stood on her toes to kiss him across the armful of guns. She picked up his hat and situated it on his head. They heard Casey. "C'mon you two. Let's go figure this mess out."

They followed the Gang members to the train. As they neared, they saw Carina step out from between two cars about halfway down the train's length. Chuck saw a fresh bloodstain on her shirt as she neared them. Her face was black and furious.

Casey looked at her. "Ya hit, Miller?"

She glanced at Casey as if he were speaking a foreign tongue, then she blinked herself into comprehension. "What? No, it just aggravated a previous wound. Damn it! I had to shoot him."

Sarah spoke. "Howell?"

Carina nodded, incensed. "Son of a bitch would try to get into a passenger car. I couldn't risk him hurting someone, killing someone, so I had to..._Shit!_'

As that word rang out, the engineer and the conductor came running to them.

The engineer was almost as wide as he was tall, and was wearing a red shirt beneath bibbed overalls. The conductor was tall, taller than Chuck, and his black hat made him seem taller still.

"What's going on?" The conductor's voice was as high as he was tall, a tenor squeak.

"Yeah?" The booming bass of the engineer's voice seemed to hit the same note as the conductors, but down two or three octaves.

"Well, as you can tell from the horizontal tree kissing your cowcatcher, these...gentlemen…" — she gestured at the three men — "...the Numbers Gang, were planning to rob your train."

"The N...N...Numbers Gang?" The conductor's voice climbed higher still, an auditory impossibility.

"Yes, and speaking of numbers," Chuck broke in, "one -— I mean Number Two, is unaccounted for."

He just said the words when there was the echoing crack of a gunshot, and then the answering, echoing roar of a shotgun. Carina looked toward the sounds with a smirk. "I'm thinking Gert just gave Number Two the two he didn't want." But then her smirk faded. "Damn it, if she's killed him…"

The engineer looked at Carina then swept her body with his eyes. "What should we do? And, lady, you're bleeding."

Carina glared at him. "Yes, I am. That time of the month."

The conductor's round face became a tomato. Carina caught herself. "Sorry, sorry. Just a little juiced by all this." She took a breath. "Get some passengers and see if you can move the tree. It shouldn't take too many or too long. Did the train derail?"

The engineer shook his head. "Don't think so. We went up for a second, but I think we came back down on the tracks. Lucky break, fate or something."

The conductor shouldered the shorter, rounder man. "Good driving. I told you, you're the best, Jerry."

The short man craned to look at the taller, thinner man's face. "Thanks, Zeke." He looked at the group, putting out a hand to Chuck. "I'm Jeremiah Skinner. This is my twin brother, Ezekiel."

The twin-line stunned Chuck into silence, his own introduction stalled. Zeke grinned and leaned toward Chuck. "Tell you a secret," he said in a loud stage whisper, "we ain't identical."

It took a second but then everyone laughed - everyone but the prisoners - and the tension broke.

Casey nodded to Carina. "I'm gonna go git the wagon. Horse ran when the train came a-bearin' down. Doubt he ran far, tho'."

"Okay. Chuck, can you help me with Howell?"

"Um, sure."

"Sarah, keep a watch on these three, please." Jerry and Zeke headed for the passenger car.

Chuck followed Carina through an opening between cars, clambering over the hitch. On the other side was Howell's body. There was a bloody hole in his chest. His lifeless eyes stared up at the darkening Idaho sky, and it stared back down at him, verdict and sentence.

Chuck took Howell's shoulders, Carina his feet. It took them a moment to get the body back through the opening. Chuck decided as they did that he had seen enough of corpses. Corpses had been with him since he found Jill. Carina was grousing at herself and the situation the whole time.

"Damn. An early train. When is a train ever early? Jerry must have one heavy throttle hand. Glad his brake hand is quick though. This could've been bad, terrible. I may not get all I wanted, but at least I'm not answerable for...what could've been."

Chuck stayed silent. It was clear she was talking to herself, coming down from..._what had she called it?_...being _juiced_.

When they got the corpse to the other side, they saw several men working to push the tree out of the way. Another group was at the other end, and one was using the axe to cut roots from the tree, so it would roll more easily.

They put the corpse on the ground and Carina went through Howell's pockets. She found nothing. "Damn," she groused again. Sarah kept watch on the prisoners.

They heard a shout and looked up. Casey was on the wagon, coming toward them. Gert was sitting in the back, her hat low on her head, her duster's collar turned up.

When the wagon reached them, Gert hopped off the back. Chuck heard a groan. He stepped to the wagon and looked down. Number Two was on his back, peppered with small bloody spots all across his chest, neck, and face. He looked like someone had shaken a paintbrush dabbed in red paint at him, splashing him here and there.

"Buckshot. Hurts like hell, I'm pleased to say, but not fatal." Chuck then noticed that Gert had a gunbelt in her hand and that Number Two's pants were around his ankles. Gert saw Chuck's look. "I wanted to make sure he didn't run."

Number Two opened his eyes and saw Chuck. He raised his head enough to take in what had happened. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me. The Numbers Gang done in by three gawdam wimmen, a grandpa and the schoolmarm?"

Chuck felt a short, sharp jab of anger, of memory. He hissed at Number Two. "You eat the apple, you pay the price."

Number Two glanced at him, lost. Chuck let it go.

Carina was standing beside Chuck. She laughed. "It ain't right, you shithead, taking an apple from a teacher." Number Two dropped his head and it rebounded on the wagon's bottom.

"Ouch."

Carina laughed again and turned to Chuck. Her eyes were full of a restrained fondness. She winked at him. "And, despite what I just said, I got the joke, Boston. But I have to say, I make an ungainly Eve."

Chuck gazed at her for a moment, admiring her. Then he gazed at Gert and at Sarah. "I don't know. If any of you had been Eve, the snake would've been dead, and we wouldn't be in this mess."

The three women looked at each other.

Gert horse-laughed. "You are funny, Mister! I like your theology." Her face sobered and became speculative. "Say, do you think Adam and Eve, you know..._men and women_...in the Garden, or did that only start when they got kicked out?"

Chuck reddened but answered. "Oh, I think...it happened in the Garden...a lot." Chuck couldn't keep from sneaking a glance at Sarah. She saw it and dropped her head, but not before he saw her smile.

Gert smirked. "Me too. Would've been easier too, before they started wearing leaves and such. They could've just stretched out beneath a tree..."

Chuck's blush began to feel like a sunburn, despite the setting sun.

Casey was staring at Gert. He blinked and cleared his throat. "We got serious business to do here. That's enuff-a that."

* * *

It was dark when they got back to Idaho Falls. The train beat them there, so a crowd had formed, awaiting their arrival. The sheriff and Nehi were also waiting.

Carina got off her horse and walked to Sheriff Constance. "Sheriff," she said, "can we talk?" He nodded and they went into the office. Nehi helped Casey get the prisoners up and herded them into the office. Sarah went to get Devon - to see about Carina and about the wounded Numbers. Gert had parted company with them outside of town. Chuck was unsure where she was going, but she left. He noticed Casey watching her as she walked into the brush at the side of the road.

As he led Jenny and Sarah's horse to the stables, Chuck realized his hands were shaking.

The schoolhouse's blackened wood was yet another corpse. He wondered if they had found anything left of Mrs. Justus. He thought about stopping at the Mortuary, but he realized Langston would have to attend to Howell's corpse.

Trudging along, he thought about Ruth Justus. He needed to see her, talk to her. Concern for her ate at him. But seeing her would have to wait until tomorrow.

As one of the stable hands took the horses, Chuck thought about the gunfight, and about his useless actions during it. _Who have I been kidding? I could be the best shot in the world and it won't matter if I can't bring myself to shoot someone. I could've gotten Sarah killed. _

He left the stables and made his way across to Mrs. Fitzsimmons'. Sarah was standing outside. Chuck realized that she had ridden into town in the blonde rider's garb. Word would pass around the town. She could have avoided it, come into Mrs. Fitzsimmons' as she left, through the window. She didn't.

As if she was reading his mind, she reached for his hand and said: "I thought about it on the way back to town, Chuck. I'm done pretending, living my life on a bridge between being and seeming. I want to _be_, Chuck. To be me. For the first time, I am focused on the future for its own sake, and not as a series of coming punishments for my past."

She paused, gathering her words. "I've been dragging my past forward, shoving it ahead of me, keeping myself trapped in it. Like a tree in a cowcatcher. Until you. And now all I can think about is our future and what we can have together. If you can love all of me, I can too, Chuck, and I can let the past be the past, and let it stay where it is, behind me. You," she stepped close to him and their bodies were in instant, distracting contact, "are here, and in front of me, Chuck Bartowski. I have faith."

He took her in his arms and kissed her. They went inside. She entered Ellie's room and Chuck entered his room. He fell face forward onto his bed, and for once, his thoughts quieted and he was instantly and dreamlessly asleep.

* * *

Tuesday, October 13, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck awoke to Ruth.

Not Ruth Justus. _Ruth Hall. _He had forgotten the novel he had found before going to stop the Numbers Gang. But the morning sunlight in his room made it visible, and he faced it as he opened his eyes. He rolled onto his back and then reached out for the book. He opened it and read the _Preface to the Reader_.

_I present you with my first continuous story. I do not dignify it by the name of "A novel." I am aware that it is entirely at variance with all set rules for novel-writing. There is no intricate plot; there are no startling developments, no hair-breadth escapes. I have compressed into one volume what I might have expanded into two or three. I have avoided long introductions and descriptions, and have entered unceremoniously and unannounced, into people's houses, without stopping to ring the bell. Whether you will fancy this primitive mode of calling, whether you will like the company to which it introduces you, or — whether you will like the book at all, I cannot tell. Still, I cherish the hope that, somewhere in the length and breadth of the land, it may fan into a flame, in some tired heart, the fading embers of hope, well-nigh extinguished by wintry fortune and summer friends._

Wintry fortune and summer friends. _A nice line. _

Chuck looked at the Preface again. He laughed silently. _Ruth Hall _might be at variance with all set rules for novel writing, but Chuck's life seemed all too defined by the rules: intricate plot, startling developments, hair-breadth escapes. All the chaos of yesterday flooded over him again.

He thought about his missed shot. His life might be novel-like, but he was not fit for the hero's part.

He put the book down and rubbed his face with his hands. He got up, poured cold water into the basin, and washed. He was chilled when he finished.

Dressed, he walked into the kitchen. Coffee was ready, and biscuits. No one else seemed to be up and Mrs. Fitzsimmons was nowhere in sight. Chuck poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it.

He heard a knock at the door. There was still no sign of Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Chuck answered the door. Diane Beckman was standing there, shadowed by Bernard.

"May we talk to you for a moment, Chuck?" She made no move to come inside, despite Chuck opening the door. He stepped outside.

"How can I help you?"

Diane gave him a smirk. "Well, one way would be by being our teacher, and not also our surprise Pinkerton detective."

"Oh, me? No, I'm…"

"I know, Chuck, but you seem to have been serving as an honorary one. Miss...Miller turns out not to be what she...seemed."

Chuck frowned. "She always seemed marvelous to me."

Diane straightened, rebuked. "No, Chuck, I just meant her 'cover' as she calls it. Not that she wasn't marvelous, but now is. She was pretending…"

Chuck smiled. "No, Diane, I know. And I take my Pinkerton days to be over."

"Good. We wanted to talk about school. It will take us time to rebuild. With October half over, it will get cold soon, and we don't believe we are likely to finish it until the Spring. Maybe not in time for this school year at all."

Chuck stared at the rubble on the far end of the street. "Well, is there another place?"

Bernard nodded. "I will let you use the Mayor's Office. It'll be a tight fit, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays you will have to confine yourself to half a day, but it'll work."

Chuck nodded. "That's kind, Mr. Beckman. Thank you."

"But," Diane added, "it will take us some time to build some benches and make the space workable. So, let's get the word out that school will restart on Monday?"

"That's fine. Thanks again. Say, do either of you have any idea who hired Carina? She said someone in town did, but she wouldn't divulge a name."

Diane looked blank. "I don't know, Chuck. But it was a good idea." She stood for a moment then turned to Bernard. "Well, come along. It's Tuesday. We have mayoring to do."

"Oh, wait, how is Ruth?"

Diane turned back to Chuck. "She's alright, considering. She slept a little last night. Mrs. Whittier is sitting with her now. Later, we'll take her over to the Office and see if we can get her mind on other things."

"Good."

* * *

As the Beckman's walked away, they passed Mrs. Fitzsimmons. She waved to them and said hello. They did the same. Mrs. Fitzsimmons joined Chuck, turning to face the street as he was.

"They're a funny pair." She chuckled. "I think Diane feels she's settled for Bernard. She thinks she's the real mayor of the town, as you've gathered."

Chuck nodded. "Yes, she's quite something. Say, was there someone else she had her eye on, someone she wouldn't have been 'settling' for?"

Mrs. Fitzsimmons puckered her lips. "Yes...Roan Montgomery. Years ago, they were quite the couple. Everyone expected them to marry but it never happened. Diane made a trip to Salt Lake City —- and she came with Bernard in tow." She unpursed her lips and sighed. "People are strange, complicated creatures."

"Made in the image and likeness of God," Chuck added, unsure if that made things seem better or worse.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons cocked her head at him. "Sometimes you say the oddest things, Chuck."

* * *

After Mrs. Fitzsimmons went inside, Chuck stood for a time, thinking. He noticed Morgan leaving The Bar None and heading to Large Mart. Chuck jogged across the street, then along it, catching up with Morgan as Morgan unlocked the front door.

"Hey, Morgan!"

"Chuck, man, I never had time to talk to you, but I'm so sorry we couldn't save the school."

"I know. Thanks for the help though," Chuck paused, "you and Anna Wu both."

Morgan shuffled his feet and looked away. Chuck let the silence between them linger.

Morgan faced Chuck. "So, Anna and I...our business conversations...um...took a turn."

Chuck couldn't help himself. "To her business?"

Morgan's eyes widened. "No, no. It's not like that. I'm Morgan, not John, I'm not...paying." He leaned toward Chuck and whispered the final word. "I think she...likes me, Chuck."

"Really? -— Sorry, Morgan. I said that because of her, not you. She hasn't seemed...well...the romantic type to me."

Morgan opened the door and went inside, leaving it standing open so Chuck could join him. "She didn't to me, either. But once you get her away from the girls and the customers, it turns out that she...is the romantic type. Although I tell you, Chuck, her romance is exhausting. I'm not complaining, but I am not getting much sleep. The schoolhouse burning didn't help. I feel dead on my feet."

"Good for you, Morgan. Not for feeling dead on your feet, but for finding someone." Chuck paused, looking around the store to make sure they were still alone. "Is she still working?"

Morgan frowned. "I don't know, Chuck. She hasn't talked to me about it and I've been...afraid to ask. I leave in the morning and come back in the evening. She comes to me later. I don't ask about her day or her...night."

Morgan seemed to want to change the subject. "So, I hear you captured the Numbers Gang?"

"Um...I was there, yes."

"Tell me!"

Chuck told Morgan the story. "So, wait, you mean Carina isn't one of Anna's girls?"

"No, she was pretending to be, but she wasn't."

"I wondered. I saw her hustling drinks downstairs but never saw her go upstairs with anyone. And she works for...Pinkerton?" Morgan's eyes were wide.

"Yes, as Casey said to me about her when all this started, she's some kind of woman."

"That she is, Chuck, that she is."

They talked a while longer. Mart came in through the back door. He was whistling, smiling.

"Hey, Martin," Chuck said in greeting, "nice to see someone cheerful this morning."

Martin smiled more. "I know it's been a dark couple of days in town, but my boy came home this morning. Doc just squared him away in the house. Mirabelle is overjoyed and Johnny seems more like himself than he has since...well, since you found Miss Reynolds."

"I'm glad, and I'm glad of some good news. I will stop by and visit him soon, if that's okay."

"Yes. He said something about a school play?"

"I'm hoping," Chuck said. "We'll see, now that the schoolhouse burned."

"The town'll find a way if you want it to happen, Chuck." Martin slapped Chuck's back with a massive hand. "We'll find a way."

"Thanks. Well, I will leave you gentlemen of commerce to your wares."

* * *

Back at Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Sarah, Ellie, and Molly were having breakfast. Sarah was back in her dress. Chuck sat and had more coffee while they finished, then he walked Sarah to the stables. Her wagon was still there. Casey was there too, his horse saddled. He was going back to the ranch with her.

Chuck gave her a hug and a kiss. "I'll try to make it out to the ranch tonight. I need to talk to your dad."

Her eyes flashed mischief. "Coming to ask for my hand, Preacher?"

"Yes, and some other things. I promise I'll explain after I talk to him, okay?"

She tilted her head at him but then she smiled. "You remember your promises to me, Chuck Bartowski, all of them."

"I will. I do."

She smiled at his words. "I do too, Chuck."

Casey grunted. "Okay, okay. Let's go." He reached out and shook Chuck's hand. "See ya, kid."

They exchanged a serious look. "I'll watch over her," Casey promised.

* * *

Chuck was in his room, napping.

A pounding on his door snapped him into consciousness. "Chuck!" It was Ellie. He jumped up and opened the door. Ellie was standing there. Beside her was Monica Stutts. Her eyes were wide with fear and panic.

"Ellie, Monica, what is it?"

Ellie turned to Monica. Monica took a breath. "It's David Shaw. He's dead." Chuck then noticed the bloodstains on Monica's shirt.

"What happened?"

He saw Monica realize that he was looking at the bloodstains. "No, Mr. Bartowski. I didn't kill him. No one killed him. He died in my arms, coughing up blood, babbling. But he told me things, Mr. Bartowski, and I didn't know who else to tell them to. You're the only one I trust."

"Come in and sit down, Monica. Take a moment; catch your breath. Where's your dad?"

"At the ranch, holding vigil over David's body, since Daniel vanished."

"Daniel vanished?"

"Yes, he left in the night. Loaded up his horses and took his four cronies with him. That ranch has been hell on earth since Daniel came back on Sunday."

"I don't understand, Monica. Start then, start on Sunday. What happened?"

Monica gathered herself. Chuck turned to Ellie. "Can you get her some lemonade?"

"Yes, I'll be right back."

Monica rubbed her hands together. Chuck saw the blood on them. He poured water in the basin and brought it to her. He put her hands in the water and washed them for her.

Ellie came in with a glass of lemonade. Chuck dried Monica's hands and then gave her the glass. She drank it all. She returned the empty glass to Chuck.

She started her story.

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time for David Shaw's death bed talk and to find out what happened at the Shaw Ranch. And more.

If you want to keep this story running on time, feed it a response, please. Love to hear from you.


	26. Concupiscent

A/N1: Confirmations and revelations...

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:

_Concupiscent_

* * *

Tuesday, October 13, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

And Jesus knew their thoughts, and said unto them, Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand.

\- _Matthew_ 12: 25

* * *

Monica started but Ellie stopped her. "Hold on. Chuck, should I be here?"

"Yes, Ellie, as long as Monica is comfortable."

Monica looked at Chuck, then Ellie. "She's your sister, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I trust her." Ellie sat down on the bed beside Chuck.

"Good. So tell us, Monica."

She put her hands flat on her knees.

"I guess I should start further back than Sunday. You know my dad took a job there, cooking. I was to work in the house, a kind of maid. But from the beginning, the Shaws treated us like...slaves, not hired help. They expected us to be spoken to but not to speak. The father, David, would get angry if he saw me reading. I kept trying to read that book you brought me - Lamb's _Tales from Shakespeare_, and he would assign me an errand, even when it was evening and all my duties were supposed to be done. They treated Dad the same way.

"We wanted to leave - but we stayed to try to save money, and because I admire you as a teacher, Mr. Bartowski. I never imagined a class where I could speak and be spoken to, or have what I say treated with such..._respect._ You have no idea how little of that there is in a black girl's life, Mr. Bartowski. Sometimes you think 'respect' is just a meaningless sound, or that it only has meaning for whites." She closed her eyes. "Sorry, that's not strictly relevant."

Ellie reached out and touched Monica's hands. "It's okay. Tell this your way. We're listening. Take your time."

Monica turned wet eyes on Chuck. "You see, _respect_." She glanced at Ellie shyly. "Thank you, Miss Bartowski."

She went on. "So, things were...going along like that, ordered about as if we meant nothing, as if we weren't dirt beneath their feet. But then Daniel came home from Walker's barbeque. He was agitated, excited. He couldn't sit still. He would sit in the front room - where you were when you visited, Mr. Bartowski - and then he would get up and go stand on the porch, staring out into the dark. He kept me making coffee for him for about three hours, well past midnight. David had gone to bed. But the noise Daniel made must've woke him, because he got up and he called Daniel into his study. They shut the door.

"For a little while, it was all quiet, then I heard David yelling. 'Fool, fool! That was not our _plan_. A gunfight. A clean kill. No questions, public, in daylight. You were supposed to push him..not…' And then the voices got soft again. I went to the kitchen to wash the empty coffee cup, hoping I could go to bed. I heard more yelling, but I couldn't make it out of the kitchen. That's when it struck me. Daniel's buddy, that awful Vincent man, had gone to the barbeque but not come home. Daniel was waiting for him. I went back to the front room and I heard them again. David: 'I don't care if you thought it would be fitting and...funny! It is too big a chance. Can you stop him?' Daniel answered: 'No, it's got to be done by now. Too late.'

"Daniel came out of the study, his face red, his eyes angry. I was able to move to the kitchen door and I pretended I was entering the front room, not leaving. He eyed me, but said nothing. He stomped out onto the porch."

"I had the book you lent me, the Lamb, on the kitchen table. David came in and he saw it. He grabbed it and gave me a look. 'I need something to help me sleep.' He took the book into his bedroom.

"That's how Saturday night - and I guess early Sunday morning ended. I went to bed and heard no more."

"I woke up at around dawn. David was screaming for Daniel. Daniel came downstairs in his robe. David demanded to talk to Vincent. Daniel admitted that Vincent had never come back to the ranch. David started to mention something else but he stopped himself. They went into the study again and David screamed at Daniel there for a long time. I was making breakfast with Dad, so we couldn't hear what was being screamed. After a while, Daniel came out, white as a sheet. He got his other four cronies, guys that he and Vincent played cards with and rode with, and they got saddled up and headed into town. Daniel looked like he was planning murder as he left.

"David watched Daniel go and then he fell into a coughing fit. I had to help him to his bed. His coughs were pink, bloody. He finally calmed down and the coughing stopped. He fell asleep, fitful and feverish. I noticed the Lamb book on the nightstand and so I took it. But as I picked it up, a piece of paper fell out of it."

Monica reached into a pocket on her pants and handed the paper to Chuck. It was wadded up. After he smoothed it on his knee, he recognized the paper. It was the same paper that Ida Reynold's note to Johnny had been written on.

The page was covered with Ida's handwriting. It was dated in the corner, the date the day she had died. Over and over, across the page, sometimes on a horizontal, sometimes on a diagonal was written:

_Ida Shaw. Ida Shaw. Ida Shaw. _

It looked like practice. In the bottom corner was a list, the start of plans for a wedding.

Chuck then noticed that small red dots peppered the page. He handed it to Ellie and looked at Monica. "So, do you think David Shaw saw this?"

She nodded. "I know he did. That'll come out in the rest of the story."

Ellie looked up from the paper. "This doesn't seem to surprise you, Chuck."

"No, I have been sure who killed Ida Reynolds for a long time, Ellie. I was just waiting on proof. Go on, Monica."

Monica's eyes got big. "You mean, Daniel Shaw?"

Chuck nodded. "I don't think David suspected. But tell us the rest, Monica, and then I will explain." _You are a smart girl, Monica_.

Monica started again. "The ranch was deathly quiet for the rest of the morning. And then Daniel and his men rode back in. Well, his men did. Daniel came a little later.

"Daniel didn't come in the main house. He went to one of the bunkhouses with his men and started drinking. One of them weaved out later and came into the main house looking for something to eat. He ran across David. I guess David woke up and got out of bed. They were standing at the table and I could hear them plain.

"The man was drunk and started telling David about Daniel's visit to the town. He mentioned you, Mr. Bartowski, and Miss Walker. And then he told David about Daniel's speech to the townsfolk. David walked out of the main house in his robe and bare feet. He went straight to the bunkhouse and he attacked Daniel. Started punching him and calling him foolish. At first, Daniel held back, then David hit him in the nose and blood started pouring and Daniel fought back. They ended up outside, beating on each other. But after a couple of minutes, David collapsed, coughing up blood bad, not just a spray - it was running out of his mouth. They were both panting, all bloody, enraged...

"David stared at Daniel and told him to leave, that he was going to ruin everything. That he - David - was going to have to clean up Daniel's messes, like always. Daniel needed to just go and stay away until David sent for him - _if _he sent for him. He was screaming about disinheriting Daniel, kept saying he would do it.

"Daniel was furious but terrified too. He gave in. The thing is - nearly all the Shaw men were loyal to or afraid of David. They've never taken to Daniel. They feared him for his father's sake, and because he has a fast gun, but he's never been the real power in Shaw's kingdom.

"Daniel gathered up his four men and they loaded themselves down with supplies, and they left.

"They haven't been back - and it was clear that David did not expect them back unless he sent for them."

"My dad helped David inside and back into bed. He was coughing still and blood was running out of the corner of his mouth. Dad and I tended to him as best we could, but it kept getting worse. Dad went out to get his horse ready. He was going to go to town and get Doc Woodcomb. David ordered him not to go.

"I nursed David for the rest of the day and on Monday too. He was coughing. Feverish. He was clear then not in his right mind.

"This morning - he had a bad night and was white as his sheets - he started talking to me. He called me Rena. That was his _wife's_ name?"

Chuck nodded.

"Well, he was having visions of her or something. He kept calling me Rena. Told me how beautiful I was, my golden hair. How much he loved me. He started weeping, telling me how much he hated losing me. He blamed Daniel, and he told me - her - that it had been a lousy trade, me for Daniel.

"And then it got hard to follow. He seemed to think that Rena came back to him, or was reborn, or something...but he started calling me _Emma_. I was the second-coming of Rena, he said. Created from the Idaho dust for him. More beautiful than Rena. He said saw me first one evening...in the window of Large Mart, trying on a hat. He decided he had to have me, that I could be no one's wife but his."

Chuck was shaking his head. "David and Bathsheba. 'The woman was very beautiful to look upon.'"

Ellie stared at Chuck but nodded in understanding. Monica looked lost. "Sorry, go on, Monica."

"He kept saying that I could be no one's wife but his. Repeating it like a spell, like one of Hamlet's mad speeches. He said he started it all, the range war, to try to force me to be his. All of it for me. He tried to get me to lay with him, but I wouldn't, even when he enticed and then blackmailed me, threatened to tell the town about my family, our history. He got angry and incoherent, the coughing worse.

"Then he said that he fixed it. Fixed me, Emma. He hired a man who worked at my ranch to poison me. If David Shaw couldn't have me, Jack Walker couldn't have me either. The man killed me with doses, then David killed the man, buried him somewhere lost out on the range.

"But he would still have his way. Emma's daughter - and I finally began to understand when he said 'Sarah' - was Emma again. And if David could not have her, then Daniel would. A Shaw would have her. But Daniel was going to mess it all up, alienating the town, killing…"

She stopped and pointed to the piece of paper she brought. "He did not explain but he was waving that around. The paper must have been tucked tight in the Lamb book. And then he gasped and coughed something awful, blood all over the bed, all over me, and he died.

"I told Dad and told him I was going to tell you. He sent me."

Ellie was shaking her head, her eyes narrowed. "I don't think I understand, Chuck."

"It's Homer, Ellie, _The Iliad_. This whole thing, the range war, the enmity between the Shaws and the Walkers, it was never about cattle and sheep, it was never about water, it was about a woman. Emma and Sarah are successive incarnations of Helen of Troy...if you see what I mean."

Ellie continued to shake her head, then she stopped. "The face that launched a thousand ships? The cause of the Trojan War."

"Yes, in a sense. The cause of the range war and of Shaw's long strangling of the Walkers. The loss of Rena, his wife, unsettled him. But Emma became his obsession, partly because he saw Rena in her - I've seen pictures of both, they do resemble each other - partly because of, well, lust. David and Bathsheba. He wanted his wife back and he wanted another man's wife and it seemed like he could do both at once. And, when she refused to sleep with him, he killed her."

"He killed Sarah's mother?"

Chuck nodded sadly. Monica was listening intently.

Ellie studied the floor. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. It's Homeric and Hebraic both."

"Yes."

"You were sure about this too, weren't you."

"I was. It fell into place for me. It's funny. Sarah mentioned _The Iliad _to me the second time we spoke but it took me a long time to see the pattern of it. David Shaw failed with the mother, but then he went to work claiming the daughter for his son, so that he could have her at one remove."

"My God, that's evil, Chuck. So, he used the threat of a renewed range war, and worries about water to force Sarah into the marriage."

"Yes, and money - the Numbers Gang took Walker payrolls. That was not a coincidence. Their taking a Shaw payroll was just a diversion. But it wasn't the range war or the water or the money that made Jack Walker coerce Sarah into this. Jack believes Emma did sleep with David, and David figured that out, and he's been threatening to tell Sarah - and maybe others - that she did. He knew the threat would move Jack because Jack would not be able convincingly to deny it, since he believed it. Jack was trying to protect Emma, even in death.

"The first time I met Sarah, she told me that her father did not visit her mother's grave. That was odd, but it took me time to understand. He was trying to protect her but he never forgave her for what he thought she did. He blamed himself for what he thought she did but he couldn't keep from blaming her too. He loved her and hated her for the sacrifice she was willing to make. But she didn't make it, and it cost her her life."

"It's all so twisted, so serpentine, Chuck." Ellie looked like she was going to be sick.

"We are strange, complicated creatures, Ellie. What motivates us doesn't have to be true, it doesn't even have to make sense, as long as we believe it…"

"Poor Sarah." Ellie's eyes glistened with tears.

Chuck looked down. "I know. I put off saying anything because I was afraid Sarah would believe the worst about her mother, believe that Emma yielded to David to protect family secrets, blame herself and her dad. But Emma a stronger spirit that her frail health suggested."

Ellie's head lifted. "Family secrets?" Monica leaned forward, rapt by the story. "Sorry, those secrets are not mine to tell."

"But what about Miss Reynolds?" Monica asked the question. "Did Daniel Shaw kill her?"

"Yes. He did. She met with him late on her last night. She and he had been meeting for a while. She told him she was carrying his baby and she tried to force him to marry her. But that would have ruined David's plans, and Daniel's, so he killed her. I'll explain later.

"Right now, I need to take this piece of paper to the sheriff and then to get to the Walker ranch." He looked at the two women. "I need you to promise me you will say nothing about any of this until I tell you it's okay."

They both agreed. "Good. I'll send Sheriff Constance and Devon out to the Shaw's ranch, to see about David Shaw and check on your father, Monica. In the meantime, stay here with Ellie."

* * *

Chuck hurried to the Sheriff's Office.

He knew the page Monica gave him and story she told were not going to be enough to convict Daniel Shaw in a court of law, but perhaps he could be convicted in the court of public opinion, forced to back away from Sarah and the town by the townsfolk, and by Sheriff Constance and Nehi.

The army Daniel Shaw once seemed to command was, in reality, David Shaw's army - and now that he was dead and Daniel publicly rebuked, perhaps the army would no longer be available. A Daniel Shaw without David Shaw and without the heavily armed cowboys was still dangerous but not like he was before.

Sheriff Constance was in the Office. So was Nehi. And Carina Miller.

Carina was arguing with the sheriff - it seemed like it had been going on for a while. "Now, look. The bounty is mine," she glanced at Chuck, newly arrived, "its ours, mine and those that helped me. I want you to make it clear to Pinkerton that I caught the Gang. I need Pinkerton to know this was my collar. It matters, Mark." She gave the sheriff a dazzling smile.

Sheriff Constance waved his hands like massive, meaty flags of surrender. "Miss Miller, I ain't got no in-t'rest in yer money or yer glory, I ain't that kinda lawman, I jes sayin' that the Numbers gots to be tried here, not somewhere else. Ya cain't take 'em with ya." He blew out exasperation. "You shure are one hard woman, Miss Miller."

Carina was unsatisfied. "Call me _Agent_ Miller."

Nehi cackled. "Ya mite jes let 'er do the talkin', Sheriff, ya got no chance."

Sheriff Constance gave Nehi an aggrieved glance. "She coulda tol' us she was in town, least done us that courtesy."

"I couldn't trust you not to give me away." Carina turned and gave Chuck a quick smile. "Howdy, Boston. We're tying up some loose ends."

"Hawg tyin' iffin ya ask me," Nehi said, still chuckling.

Chuck waved in response to belated waves from the sheriff and Nehi. "Hey, gentlemen. "

He looked at Carina. "Did you question Number Two?"

She gave Chuck a scary grin. "I did. I even threatened to put Gert and her shotgun in the cell with him. He wasn't big on that. The problem is that Howell kept the other four in the dark. They did what he told them to do. They were making money, a lot of it, so they let it go.

I have no proof but it seems to me that Howell _was_ pursuing his own angle. He was in it for the gold shipment. He did Shaw's bidding with that as the eventual goal. He wanted the Gang to have a history of various crimes, so the gold shipment would not stand out as the primary target.

"He was biding his time, doing Shaw's bidding, waiting for the bridge to be repaired and for the railroad to start shipments again. He wanted to stick it to the railroad. I bet David Shaw expected a cut of the train robbery but it's clear from what we heard that Howell had no intention of giving Shaw any. I doubt he planned to give the other Numbers any. But I can't prove any of it, tie any of it back to David Shaw.

Nehi chimed in, reflecting aloud. "An' Howell had sum kinda gripe with the railroad...so he gits rich an' they git hurt an' humiliated. Big ol' win for Thad."

Chuck stepped around Carina.

He handed the page to Sheriff Constance. "David Shaw no longer matters. He's dead." The other three stared at Chuck in shock. Chuck repeated Monica's story. Chuck told them what he thought happened on the final day of Ida Reynolds' life.

He omitted the parts about Rena, Emma and Sarah when he recounted Monica's story. He wanted Jack and Sarah to hear those parts first.

When Chuck finished, there was a long silence, then Nehi gave a whoop of disbelief and Sheriff Constance whistled. Carina looked half-satisfied, half-dissatisfied.

"Well," the sheriff said, talking slow, "whaddaya know. Dad and boy at odds? Daniel dun run off. David Shaw dun gone to meet his Maker. Doubt either Shaw or the Maker lookin' forward to that meetin'.

"Gotta say, Idaho Falls is 'bout to have a string o' unattended funerals - Vincent, Mrs. Justus and now David Shaw. Tell ya what, Nehi an' I will head out ta Shaw's wi; the Doc. I'll alert Langston that t' busy season ain't over yet.

"After we look in at the Shaw ranch, Nehi an' I'll start lookin' fer Dan'l. Won't start 'til tomorra mornin', tho." He looked thoughtful. "This here page won't convict 'im," the sheriff waved it in the air, "but it's enough ta bring 'im in and grill 'im for a while. Specially since David Shaw won't be comin' inta town, throwin' his men and money aroun'."

* * *

Chuck was riding along at a quick pace on Jenny.

He was eager to see Sarah and her father - and he dreaded it. He would have felt that way if he were only coming to talk to Jack about marrying his daughter - especially since there was that small problem of her already being engaged to a murderer who Chuck now suspected was seriously unhinged. The apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.

But now Chuck had the burden of David Shaw's story to share. It could have been worse, surely, but it would still be bitter. For Jack, his wife would become a victim of a man from whom no justice in this life could be exacted. She had not done what Jack believed - but now he would understand he had mistakenly convicted the woman he loved, believed she had succumbed to another man's concupiscence. All these years. All these years, he had avoided his wife's grave, sent Sarah on a lonely errand. It would be hard for Jack to forgive himself when he found he never had anything in Emma to forgive.

It would also be hard for Sarah - to know what her father had believed, to realize her mother's fate. Chuck wanted so to protect Sarah, and her heart - the timid but tender heart she had made taciturn for so long - but now he had to hurt her, hurt her heart.

Yes, Chuck was far from the bearer of good news. He was a messenger, an annunciator of sad tidings.

He wondered if perhaps he should _not_ talk to Jack about Sarah, about their hopes, their promises, just let it wait, but then he decided that waiting was a bad idea - and he had promised Sarah, in effect, that he would talk to her father.

His nerve failed him - or something went wrong - in the shootout with the Numbers Gang. He would not let his nerve fail him now. He would say all the things he needed to say.

Jenny recognized that they were near the ranch. Chuck pulled her reins, stopping her. He was at the spot where she met him the first time he came. He could not believe that since then she had asked him to marry her. Daniel Shaw was still out there, still to be dealt with, but for a moment, Chuck let himself take in a lungful of the pure, cold fall air. Sarah said she had faith. So did Chuck.

They would have their future together. It would work out.

He had to _believe._

* * *

As he approached the ranch, his mild euphoria collapsed into panic.

Men were running from the house to the barn. Yells were audible. Alarm. Distress.

Chuck urged Jenny into a run and pulled up next to the porch. He jumped down, letting her reins hang. He saw an older man, grey-headed, run past him. He was carrying a basin and cloths. Chuck followed him into the barn.

On the floor of the barn, holding his hands in his head, sat Casey. Blood, drying, caked one side of his face. The back of his head, his hair, was wet with blood. He looked up at the man and Chuck. Casey's frown made Chuck afraid. "Chuck. I failed you. And her. Shaw and his men came. They took her."

Chuck felt everything around him shake and spin. "What? How?" Chuck felt his hands shaking.

The older man knelt behind Casey and had wet a cloth. He was wiping the blood away, the white cloth turning pink, as was the clear water in the basin. "Don't talk, Mr. Casey." Casey grimaced and nodded.

"You are Chuck?" The older man asked as he scrubbed the blood from Casey's face. Chuck said yes. The man surveyed Chuck. "You are much as she said. I am Justin Villa. I was once foreman here. Now my wife, Yvonne, and I live in retirement on a nearby farm." Sarah had mentioned Justin to him during their night in the loft and he had been hoping to meet him and his wife. But not like this.

"I came here with her horse - Whirlwind, you named him. She wanted to bring him home. She was keeping him at our farm."

As if on cue, Chuck heard an ear-rending squeal from one of the stalls. The enormous black head of Whirlwind came into view. His eyes were rolling, the whites showing. He bared his teeth and roared.

Justin glanced at the horse nervously but continued. "When I arrived, I found Mr. Casey on the floor of the barn. I put Whirlwind there and checked. I was frightened Mr. Casey was dead."

Casey looked up, his wet hair standing on his head. "Lucky for me Dan'l sent his men in here. He would've killed me. I let m' guard down. Everythin' seemed fine. Finished muckin' out the stall for her horse an' I was standing here, thinkin' about lighting a cigar later an' smokin' on the porch, watchin' the sunset. They got in behind me, Dan'l's men, an' whacked me wi' that axe handle." He gestured to the piece of wood on the ground. "Lucky for me agin' that the blade weren't there."

"And Sarah?" Another squeal from Whirlwind. Casey answered. "She was inna house. Jack's not here, he's out on t' ranch somewhere. Prob'ly not back 'til dark."

Chuck glanced at Whirlwind. The horse seemed to be staring at him, demanding something. "Mr. Villa, help me get my saddle off my horse outside. I am going to take Whirlwind and find Sarah." He spoke low and with complete authority, complete conviction. Justin dropped the cloth into the water and went to do what Chuck said.

Casey got up and swayed for a moment before stabilizing. "Can you ride that horse, Chuck? He seems loco to me."

Chuck shrugged. "He let me touch him once. And, on him, no one can escape me. I'll be the vengeance of the Lord." Chuck's voice was empty, cadaverous. He heard himself; he sounded like Number One.

"Whoa, whoa, kid, throttle back. They've gotta couple hours start on ya and ya have no idea how to track 'em. I'm comin' with you."

"No, Casey, you can't."

"Doan tell me what I can an' can't." He strode purposefully if unsteadily to the barn doors. Justin passed him with Chuck's saddle, staring at Casey as he did. Casey yelled out in the direction of the bunkhouse, a mighty bellow, confident of obedience. "One of ya! Bring my extra gun and gun belt, and bring me two rifles and shells! Enough fixin's for a couple of days on the trail. Two bedrolls. Now!"

Casey put his hand against the back of his head. He swayed again. He pulled his hand away, bloody. He wiped it on his pants.

Chuck took his saddle from Justin and approached Whirlwind. He snorted. His ears stood forward, stiff. Chuck made a calming sound and opened the half-door. Whirlwind stepped back and snorted again. When Chuck was in the stall, Chuck stopped and stood still. Whirlwind lowered his head and came to Chuck.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck slipped on the bridle and put the saddle on the horse's deep, glossy back.

Whirlwind stood still. Chuck adjusted the saddle and led the horse out.

Justin was staring in wonder. As Chuck led the horse from the barn, he saw Casey loading his own horse, his hat on his head. Supplies hung from Casey's saddle.

Casey turned and stared. "I'll be damned…"

Casey picked up the gunbelt and rifle that were at his feet. He carried them to Chuck. Whirlwind's ears flattened. Casey kept a respectful distance.

Chuck reached out, took the gunbelt and put it on. He checked the gun. Loaded. Then he took the rifle. It was in a leather rifle case, outfitted to attach to a saddle. Chuck attached it to his, then, with a huge spring, he got up on Whirlwind.

The horse danced, his ears stiff and twitching, but he did not fight Chuck. Casey was on his horse.

"You sure, Casey?"

Casey nodded grimly, his lips set in a line. "I'm sure. Ain't bleedin' no more. It's time to save yer girl and settle with Dan'l Shaw." Casey looked at Justin. "Tell Jack. Get word to the sheriff."

"I will, Mr. Casey, Chuck. Bring her home safe. _Ve con Dios._"

Chuck felt his hands shaking still as he held the reins. Almost as if the reins communicated the shake to Whirlwind, Chuck felt the horse tremble beneath him, a focused earthquake of muscle and will. Chuck glanced beside him. Casey was studying the ground, and then he looked along a line, scanning to the vast greying horizon.

With Justin's words still ringing, they urged the horses forward, trot, canter, gallop.

_Please, God, keep Sarah safe. _Chuck's hands still trembled, anger and fear. He tried not to imagine what could happen. Chuck bit the inside of his lower lip until he tasted blood.

* * *

A/N2: And we head into the home stretch. Tune in next time as we shift to Sarah's POV. Chapter Twenty-Seven, "Ungodly".

Thoughts?

* * *

A/N3: I've started a short post-finale story, "Ruin", if you are interested.


	27. Ungodly

A/N1: The chase begins.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

_Ungodly_

* * *

Tuesday, October 13, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Hear, O God, the voice of my lament,  
Preserve my life from the enemies' terror,  
Hold me from the secret plotting  
Of the wicked  
The seething mass  
Of the workmen of evil.

\- _Psalm_ 64

* * *

Sarah could feel Daniel's heated breath on her neck and could smell liquor on it.

It was clear he had been drinking - and for a while - because she realized that the smell was not just his breath - it was him, his clothes and sweat smelled of liquor. Whiskey and sweat. Rancid.

She was on his horse, in front of him on the saddle, squeezed between Daniel and the pommel, the horn. The horses were moving fast, and Sarah's eyes were wet, her tears making the landscape blurry. She tried to relax, to move in unison with the horse's motion, but her anxiety and revulsion kept her tense, stiff.

Her hair was blowing and she reached into her apron pocket and felt a ribbon. She also felt shears - she had been working on the final details of her wedding dress, dreaming of wearing it for Chuck, when Daniel and his men attacked the ranch house.

She pushed the shears down deep in the pocket and extracted the ribbon, black, and tied her hair as the horse ran. The action calmed her, and her vision cleared. But then she felt Daniel's lips - and his tongue - on her exposed neck. She fought back a scream, and bile, tried to ignore the odor and the touch of him.

Keeping her wits about her was paramount. She had to escape; she could not let herself be taken. _Taken. _The ambiguity chilled her.

She was alone beneath the vast sky, alone among scrub pines and stones, alone with four ungodly men.

* * *

After an interminable ride, the horses spent, Daniel stopped, motioning for the other men to do so too.

They had reached an enshadowed canyon, the stretched final sunlight of the day creating long, murky shadows across the rocky ground.

The men tended the horses, their own and Daniel's, hobbling the horses nearby. Sarah recognized they had stopped near a stream, a stream on the outer, northern side of Shaw's range.

Sarah's long rides on Whirlwind had taken her to many distant spots, and she had ridden here before, watered Whirlwind in the same stream. Daniel knew nothing about her riding Whirlwind, though, nothing about Sarah's extensive survey of the territory.

She made sure he did not suspect.

"Where are we?" Sarah asked the question in a small, defeated tone, pretending a degree of shock and helplessness. "Can I have some water?"

He nodded and started for the stream. He had a canteen in his hand already.

Unobserved for a moment, Sarah searched her dress pocket. The shears were still there, a small reassurance. They might be her only chance to save herself.

She doubted anyone could start after her until sundown and that would mean they could cover little distance for fear of losing the trail. In her favor was the drunken carelessness of Daniel and his men. They made no serious effort to obscure the signs of their passing.

If Casey was still alive, Sarah felt confident he had the skills necessary to follow them, find her. She had heard one of the men tell Daniel that Casey had been "taken care of". It appeared Daniel assumed that Casey was dead, but Sarah hoped not.

The former cavalryman was a hard man to kill, she was sure of that.

That was clear even when he was sitting on the porch, staring at the sunset, puffing on a cigar. He was tenaciously alive even at rest, in something like the way Chuck was ceaselessly verbal even when silent.

Casey and Chuck. Two good men. One, her friend, the other, her chosen husband-to-be.

Thank God, Chuck had not yet arrived at the ranch when Daniel arrived. The thought sent a shiver along Sarah.

Daniel came back with the canteen, after chatting with the men. He held it out. It was dripping from being held underwater. He smiled at her as if he were handing her a glass of punch at the barbeque.

She made herself smile. She was not sure - but she was confident - that Daniel knew nothing about her particular past, about her involvement in her father's cons. It was time to dredge that past up, though she wanted to forget it. Dredge it up, escape, and then put it away for good.

She took the canteen and took a long drink. Although she had used her thirst to distract Daniel, it was real. Some water escaped her lips and she drank and ran down her long neck, disappearing into the buttoned top of her dress. She noted Daniel's eyes follow it down, down, and linger there. He leaned toward her.

She held the canteen out, interposing it between him and her. He licked his lips then took the canteen, took a long swallow and then looked at her again, his eyes hooded, hungry.

The other four men had gotten water for themselves and were making camp. Sarah could feel their eyes on her, lingering when possible. The men would stare at her, check to see if Daniel, saw, and stare at her again.

Sarah appreciated the full complexity of her situation. For now, she was, in the eyes of the men, Daniel's, but it was unclear how long that would last. It was also unclear whether they each wanted her for themselves, or whether they wanted her for _them_, the four of them together, to do with her as they pleased, as a gang.

She needed them to each want her for himself. If they decided that they wanted her for them, not for each, then they could likely overpower or kill Daniel and then…

Sarah did not like her chances - with a pair of shears in an apron pocket - against four armed men.

Her best chance was to stall, to keep Daniel under her control, to help Daniel stay in control of the men, to make sure he wanted to stay in control of them.

"What's your plan, Daniel? My dad, the sheriff, ...folks will come after me. You can't get away with it...with me. And, even if you did, how would you ever come home again?" She needed to push him enough to get him to declare his mind - or at least more of it. His gaze earlier had told her plenty.

He looked at her in response to her question, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. "Maybe I don't intend to 'get away' with you. And maybe home is just dust on my boots. Maybe it's time I made my mark in the world, made the world sit up and notice that I am Daniel Shaw, more than David's son." His tone was sulphuric, intense. She knew then that something had happened at the Shaw ranch; she noticed that Daniel's nose was swollen.

Daniel resented his father, Sarah knew that. But the resentment had simmered, never boiling over. Daniel feared his father, just like everyone else.

But maybe she underestimated or misunderstood the full force of that resentment? Whatever was true, Daniel was in a strange and dangerous frame of mind. Taking her proved it - it was a desperate, heedless act, caused in part by whiskey but...also by something else. His eyes now, as she looked at him were wild on the edges, hunted. He was a killer - she knew that, but now she saw it. His eyes were murderous. Daniel was not focusing the murder on her, not at the moment, but he might, soon. Sarah imagined that Jill Roberts had stared into those eyes, wild and hunted, as Daniel beat her.

"_I've _always known that, Daniel. I was never interested in you because you were his son." She kept her tone even.

He gave her a cold, calculating glance, the wildness bridled. "I'm thinking you were never interested in me at all, or at any rate, that you aren't interested in _me_ any longer. I thought all your dithering about our engagement and then our wedding was...some girlish, _virginal _show, to make me more eager, more set on you, while you seemed uneager, unsettled.

"But I don't know. I've been thinking about what happened in town, your refusal to come with me as you should have - if you were my woman, as a _woman_ ought to be a _man's_ woman..."

"But, Daniel, I was just looking out for you. The town was riled up already. For you to order me about was just to make yourself look bad in front of them. I refused you for your sake." Sarah used her most sincere voice, honeyed just at the end, and she finished her speech with a submissive glance.

It all seemed to mollify Daniel. He looked at her with still less wildness. She wasn't sure he believed her, but he did not disbelieve her. He wanted to believe her.

"Take me with you and when we get to the nearest town, we can get married and get word back to my dad and Idaho Falls. They'd leave us alone, as long as Casey…"

"He's not dead," Daniel said, "he was just unconscious. I just checked with Jeb when we were at the stream. I suppose we might smooth it over...maybe pay Casey for his ...injury…drunken high jinks, was all."

But the mention of money made Daniel's eyes wild again.

He looked at her as if trying to decide. She held her breath. He broke his stare and walked to his bedroll. unrolled it, lifted a blanket from it and brought it to her, putting it at her feet. "You can sleep on this." He glanced at the men, who looked quickly away, and then he faced her. "Probably, you should put it near me. I need to clear my head, figure out what's going on, and what I should do. You'll marry me, next town?"

She nodded. The strategy might work - keep Daniel and the men all at bay, him against them. Daniel stood still, pondering.

He was sobering up. Sarah could see that Daniel was beginning to reckon with what he and his men had done. Daniel saw them looking at her, noticed it and understood the dynamic having her with them had created. He stood there, assessing and reassessing.

Sarah got up and picked up the blanket. She moved it near Daniel's spot but kept a distance between her spot and his. Even though it was not yet dark, she opened the blanket, leaving one half of its length on the ground, using the other to cover herself. She knew that the sooner she was out of sight, the better.

She lay there on the hard, chilly ground. The men joked with each other but the mood in camp soured. It was dark and it would be cold. The men ate jerky and dried biscuits. But Daniel refused to allow them a fire, so they had neither its cheer nor the coffee that might have been made over it. The men began to complain of the cold, the meager dinner, the lack of whiskey. Daniel quieted them, but not before a chorus of mean-spirited complaints and a moment or two of quick, minor insubordination.

Sarah ate a little, despite her fear and discomfort. She knew she needed to eat and sleep, and keep herself functioning so that if her chance came, she could take it.

The men fell quiet, the fireless cold driving them into their blankets. When everything grew quiet, and she could tell Daniel was asleep, Sarah reached down and got the shears from her apron pocket. A screw at the pivot point held the shears together. Sarah turned it until it fell out. She dropped the screw into her apron pocket and took the blades apart. She now had two small knives. Each blade was about three inches long - not much, but it was all she had.

She turned herself so she could see all the men. Each was asleep. She knew they would be up and moving again before dawn. If anyone was coming to help her, she prayed they would make camp late and rise very early, gaining ground while Daniel and his men slept.

Sarah put one blade back in her apron pocket and kept the other in her hand, below the blanket.

After a little while, she started to feel herself drifting. She did not fight it. Chuck was on her mind and his name was on her silent lips as she went to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, Sarah woke up, cold and cramped.

She had rolled in her sleep, her back to the men. She rolled back toward them, but kept her eyes shut. Peeking out, she saw one of the men, Jeb, sitting up in on his bed, a blanket wrapped around him, hooding his head. He had a pipe in his mouth.

When he inhaled, the slight glow from burning tobacco lit his face. Dark eyes, seething, lustful, darkened by imaginings, stared at her, consumed her. She pretended to be asleep, hiding her trembles.

Jeb puffed on his pipe, relighting it twice, and glancing around to make sure no one else was awake. But except for those moments, he stared at Sarah. At one point, he rubbed his hand slowly over the crotch of his jeans, his eyes intensifying, but Daniel rolled over at the same moment, and Jeb moved his hand and returned to puffing and staring.

Sarah did not sleep the rest of the night although she pretended to.

By the time Daniel roused the men - Jeb had finally stretched out and taken his eyes off Sarah - the cold and the tension had made Sarah stiff. Her hand around the scissor blade was slow to open, almost frozen. She was able to drop the blade into the pocket with the other. She got up, wrapping herself in the blanket.

Daniel and the men walked in the dark to the stream. Sarah watched as they splashed cold water on their faces and refilled their canteens. Jeb moved to crouch beside Daniel and quiet words passed between them. Daniel stiffened, and she heard him tell Jeb no, in a commanding, dangerous tone. Jeb looked at him, his face a challenge. The other two men were watching the exchange and then looking from Daniel and Jeb to Sarah. Jeb stood and hissed something at Daniel. She did not hear it all but she could make out the word: _share_.

Daniel shook his head and stood, his hand on his pistol. Jeb saw it and backed up a step, his shoulders dropping. The other two men pretended they had not been watching.

Daniel walked to her and extended the canteen again. She took a drink. "Can we make a fire," Sarah asked, risking a slight pout she hoped only Daniel could see, "I'm hungry, Daniel, and cold."

Daniel seemed affected by her pout. "No, but the sun'll be up soon and it'll warm you."

She stood and started to drop the blanket, walk to the water to wash her face. Daniel reached out, glancing at the men. "You shouldn't. Stay here and be warm. We'll find another stream later...when it's warmer."

The men readied their horses. Daniel readied his.

He took the blanket from Sarah and rolled his bedroll up, strapping it to his saddle. Sarah got up onto the horse and Daniel got on behind her and they began moving again. Daniel's odor had not improved during the night. Sarah suspected hers had not either.

As they rode, the men did not talk to each other, to Daniel. Daniel did not talk to them.

Every time Sarah could see one of the men, the man was staring at her. She swallowed hard.

She felt Daniel's arm snake around her, his hand open, stroking her stomach through her dress - a message to the men - and to her.

His grip on her tightened.

* * *

Chuck and Casey had stopped.

They pushed on in the dark until Casey could no longer see the trail. Chuck could tell that Casey was feeling the effects of the blow to his head. He had gotten unsteady in the saddle and Chuck had seen him rub the back of his head and then look at the blood on his hand. Chuck had tried to get him to rest for a few minutes but he was unwilling to do so until it was too dark to see.

They hobbled the horses, Casey watching as Whirlwind allowed Chuck to do it. They built a quick fire and made coffee, cooked a thin stew of jerky and vegetables. The warmth of the coffee and stew were more important than their flavor. They ate in silence. After they finished, Casey lit a cigar and sat on the ground, sipping the dregs of his coffee.

He spoke without looking at Chuck - he just stared at the fire. "Why are ya out here, kid? It's gotta have sumthin' ta do with Dan'l, him bein' in Boston and ya comin' from there. Ya followed him here, didn't ya?"

"Yes, Casey. Daniel killed a woman in Boston, a friend of mine. Molly's mother. He beat her to death. I came to Idaho Falls to kill him." Chuck turned from the fire to face Casey. "But I've been slow about doing it, or trying to do it."

Casey pulled on his cigar, eyeing Chuck, but not unkindly. "Ya ain't a killer, Chuck. An' that's a good thin', not a bad one. A strength, not a weakness."

"Dan'l also killed Miss Reynolds, Casey."

Casey looked at him. "The school teacher? The body ya found?" Casey's lips set in a line. "And now he has Miss Walker."

Neither man spoke for a while. "We need ta git some sleep, so we can git goin' tomorrow. My horse cain't run wi' that Whirlwind, but we'll push mine as much as we can. The longer he has her…" Casey stopped himself and started unrolling his bedroll.

Chuck unrolled his. They got beneath their respective blankets after tending the fire. Chuck looked up at the sky. For once, it did not look back down on him. He closed his eyes, asking it to look over Sarah. The fire cackled.

"Casey?"

Casey grunted.

"Tell me about The Burning."

Casey sighed. Chuck thought he would not respond, but then he started. "Grant wanted Sheridan to drive Mosby's Raiders outta the Shenandoah. We went in an' tried to destroy annythin' Mosby's men could eat, an' ta make the civilans afraid 'o helpin' him." Casey paused. "We drove off thousands o' heads o' cattle, thousands o' sheep, butchered a thousand hogs. Laid waste an' ruin to the land. Took milk out o' the mouths of babies. Waste and ruin, dyin' animals, hungry people. Men beatin' their breasts an' on bent knees, a-beggin' fer jes one cow so their kids could live. But the order was fer _no mercy._ An' we followed our orders." His voice was a whisper as he finished.

Chuck thought that was all but then Casey continued. "It was dishon'rable, kid, shameful. I was too young an' too green to understand it all, but I've been plum ashamed of myself evver since. I was part o' a-bunch that drove off sheep, shooting 'em and trampling 'em, burnin' their carcasses - an' maybe that's why I took the job as Walker's foreman, still tryin' to undo summa the wrong I did. Regret's a pow'rful thin', Chuck, a heavy burden, shapin' a man's life from the rear o' 'im. Doan weight yerself down wi' it, doan let yer past steer from behind yer back; it cain't see where ya goin'."

Casey rolled over. Chuck glanced toward Whirlwind. The hobbled horse was standing still, alert, looking off into the distance, as if rest were a concession he was making to the men, but unnecessary to him.

Chuck looked back up at the sky. His fear for Sarah plunged as deep in him as the dark sky climbed above him.

* * *

Well before sunup, in the grey half-light of dawn, Chuck and Casey were on the trail again.

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time for Chapter 28, "The Thick, Red Moment".

Thoughts and reactions? Love to hear from you! Just a few chapters to go.

-_Zettel Grey_


	28. The Thick, Red Moment

A/N1: The chase continues. Brace yourselves. This is intense in places.

* * *

** Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

_The Thick, Red Moment_

* * *

Wednesday, October 14, 1885  
Idaho Falls Territory

* * *

There is an air of infinite grief and the sound of wailing all over and through this lurid universe. A vampyre sits in the seat of the prophet and turns with gloomy appetite to the images of pain.

— Emerson, _Swedenborg_

* * *

Sarah was trying to stay awake, trying to think. She and Daniel and the men were now past the limits of her knowledge, past anything with which she was familiar. She had never ridden so far alone.

The men, Jeb leading them, were becoming openly defiant. Allowing themselves long looks at her that left nothing in their imaginations. Their lurid plans were sketched on their faces, plain for Sarah to see.

Daniel had let his hands travel on her as they rode. His imaginings were plain in his groping fondles and caresses, increasing in trespass, increasing in demanding. She kept gently forcing his hands away. She wanted to retch when he touched her, and yet, he — her enemy — the man among them she most feared - was her protector. His gun hand was the only thing preventing the men from pulling Sarah onto the rough earth and piling themselves on her…

She bit her tongue hard, braking her imagination. Panic and despair had to be refused. They would cause what they dreaded. Trapped in a texture of threads, and armed only with disassembled sewing shears. She needed Daniel to think she was compliant, willing, or willing enough, and so she could not resist his hands as she wanted to — by spearing them with her scissor blades. But his hands were only worsening the problem with the men, not helping it. Daniel thought he was staking his claim, but what he was really doing was inflaming the men as they imagined their hands where Daniel's were, imagined her soft flesh beneath her now-dirty dress, imagining her soft flesh forced to submit to their hard hands.

She studied her problem. Someone was behind them, coming for her — she was sure. But how far behind and who and how many? One tactic would be to slow Daniel and the men, but it was unclear how she could do that, and stopping almost surely meant that Jeb's word from the morning, _share_, would become the topic of the stop. Riding on kept the men at bay but kept help behind too.

A stop was coming soon, though. They'd had little breakfast. The men were hungry, and the horses tired, slowing.

She was trying to plan for the stop when it arrived unexpectedly. Daniel's horse began to trot unevenly; the horse had pulled up lame. Daniel reined the horse in. The men stopped. Daniel dismounted to check the horse. The men dismounted too, giving their horses a chance to breathe.

Sarah stepped down, careful to stay near Daniel, who was now kneeling, inspecting a front hoof. Sarah scanned the terrain. They were on the edge of a wooded area, heavy with trees and with underbrush. Sarah cursed her dress: in it, she could not outrun the men. In pants, she thought she might have been able to do it, outrun all except Daniel. Jeb and the three others were all large men, heavy. They were used to moving on horseback, not on foot. Sarah spent a lot of time on foot, working out and among the shepherds with her dad or with Justin Villa. She walked and ran constantly. Given a little advantage at the beginning, if she could get to a place to shorten the dress, she could make it very hard for them to catch her.

Daniel leaned down further, squatting deeply, checking the hoof. At that moment, Jeb hit Daniel on the head with his rifle butt. Sarah had not noticed Jeb get it out.

Daniel crumpled to the ground with an audible exhalation of breath.

Sarah did not stop for thought. As Daniel crumpled, she broke and ran, slapping the rear flank of Daniel's horse hard as she ran past it. The horse, already restive and fidgety from fatigue and pain, reared up and roared. The horses of the men panicked in response, and for a handful of precious seconds, it forced the men to grab at reins, to wrestle their horses.

Sprinting as fast as her skirt and apron would allow, Sarah plunged into the shadows of the trees. As soon as the trees obscured her from sight, she bent down and used one of the scissor blades to cut away a part of her skirt. Ripping away the rest, she threw it to the ground. She left the apron on; it was no hindrance and she might need the pockets.

Her legs were now bare to above her knees. She plunged deeper into the woods, hearing the cries of the men behind her.

* * *

Chuck worried about Casey. They had been riding hard and Chuck could see that Casey was in pain. Casey held his head at an odd angle as he rode, as if trying to keep the hard strike of hooves on earth from reverberating up his back and into his aching head.

They had made good time. Casey's horse was not Whirlwind, but the horse was game. They stopped at a stream to let the horses drink while they refilled their canteens.

Casey drank, then gestured at the spot as Chuck drank. "We're closing. Maybe a' hour, less, a-tween us. They camped here last night. Ain't been gone long."

"Why didn't you say so?" Chuck wiped his mouth on his forearm, standing and looking around, hopeful and terrified.

"I looked as we dismounted and walked over," Casey said. "No signs of blood or struggle. Six beds. Six, Chuck."

Neither man commented more on the count, but each allowed the other to see the relief and hope the number created.

"What is Daniel doing, Casey? We're following, but do you have a guess where he is heading?"

Casey took another sip of water, then capped his canteen and hung it around his saddle's horn. He pulled his horseback from the water. He gestured for Chuck to do the same with Whirlwind. When the horses were away from the stream, Casey answered.

"I don't think there's a plan, Chuck. This was sum kind-a recklessness, sum spur o' the moment thin'. He ain't thought it through. I smelt whiskey on the one that clubbed me. As for Dan'l, I figger it was drink an' rage sent him down this path, tho' I doan know what stirred on the rage, unless it was that bizness in town, on the street. Dan'l sure got a heap of rage stored up — an' I hate t' say it, but he seems t' like to unleash it on ladies or on folks he thinks is weak. I knew men like him in the army, commanded some — even had to shoot one in the middle of a fight with Indians some years back. Rage feeds on fear...Like one o' them demons, _a vampire_?, feeds on blood..." Casey looked away, at the horizon behind them. "Annyway, I doan think he'd got a plan, and that's bad news, not good, cause it means he ain't under his own whip and his men'll figger that out soon enough. You doan need me to tell ya," Casey said as he swung himself into the saddle, "Miss Walker's a true beauty. Those men ain't nevver been near such a woman when they could...have her. Not Dan'l, either, if ya think 'bout it. I'm prayin' we're in time, and there's sum reason for hopin' — but ya gotta know what might be a-head of us, kid. Steel yerself."

Chuck was in the saddle too. He nodded. Casey added as he urged his horse forward: "My guess is he's kinda headin' toward Cody. He's gonna need new horses, iffn his'll even make it that…"

As the horses began to stretch into a run, Chuck's body protested. He had never spent so much time in the saddle and the length of him felt bruised and weary. He fought the pain down and tried not to dwell on Casey's advice.

* * *

Sarah was still well ahead of the men. She needed some tactic, some way of lengthening the foot chase. The woods were dense enough that the men had not remounted. She could hear them in the distance, crashing through the underbrush.

She could keep running — but she did not know where she was, or where she was going. The horses were behind her. She had an inspiration: she thought of Chuck, of Euclid. The best plan would be to go in a direction the men would not expect. The world was three-dimensional, not two-dimensional, not Flatland.

She sped up, running along and looking at the trees. Seeing one that would work, she ran wide of it and then, after covering some ground, she turned and ran back along her own path, toward the pursuing men. When she got even with the tree, still a ways away, she stopped, then leaped up, over some waist-high undergrowth, careful to land on its far side. She had created a break in her trail. It would have to be enough.

Picking her path as carefully as she could, passing as gingerly as she could while still hurrying, she reached the tree. She circled to its other side, then jumped up and grabbed a low limb. _I wasn't a tomboy for nothing, Mom. _She swung her feet up and half-pulled, half-walked herself up onto the limb. Then she began to clamber up higher into the tree. It was large, dense with gold and red. Her dark yellow house dress was nearly the same color as the golden leaves. She got up as high as she could, and stopped on a limb that would hold her weight. She stood on it and hugged the trunk of the tree. Gazing down, she saw that the ground was obscured by all the intervening leaves.

She was as well hidden as she could manage.

She waited. The men, long in earshot, came into eyeshot. She could just see them as she peeked out and down past the tree trunk. Jeb was leading them. Daniel was not there.

"Hey, Missy," Jeb called out, his voice a cruel coo. "We're a-comin'. This here's jes gittin our blood up, if ya know what I mean…" The other men chuckled and Sarah stomach knotted. "Come on out and spread them long legs o' yers. A looker like ya, won't take us long, an' there's only four o'us." More chuckles.

The men moved along the path Sarah had created running. She held her breath when they neared the tree, the spot where she jumped off her own path. They went on and she exhaled slowly. After a few more minutes, she heard them. They had stopped, and were arguing.

"Hell, no, Jasper, she didn't vanish," she heard Jeb say in frustration, after a mumbled remark by Jasper. "Turns out our li'l filly knows a trick or two. That may bode well fer later — maybe she knows more trick's gen'rally. We could make it all last a li'l longer."

Another mumbled remark and a louder response from Jeb. The men were still standing at the end of Sarah's trail. "I didn't kill Dan'l fer a reason, ya shithead. He's tied. He ain't gonna interfere. Fact, I plan fer him to watch. He done made us watch him paw her soft spot all o' the mornin'. An' after we finish w' the woman, we're gonna git word to the ol'man, to David, that we got his boy an' he's gonna pay us to have 'im back."

"'Course ya didn't think o' that, ya shithead." Jeb's tone grew icy. "An' since I'm t' one a-doin' the thinkin', I'm gonna be the first one a-doin' the screwin'. You boys'll have to enjoy my leavin's."

Sarah bit her lip and tried not to understand. The men were retracing their steps. They walked a short distance and she could see them again, looking about themselves for some sign of her.

"Let's split up." She saw Jeb point while looking at Jaspar. "You go that way. And you two," he pointed in the other direction, "go that way. Give a whoop when ya find her and doan touch her 'til I git there." The men split up as Jeb ordered. In the momentary silence, she heard Daniel, screaming for the men to come back and untie him. Jeb laughed.

The other men disappeared from sight. Jeb walked to and fro on the path, looking for signs of her. He passed the spot where she jumped again and walked back a distance. He stopped and returned. He stood in place for a long time, turning slowly, gazing hard into the surrounding woods. Long minutes past. She realized he was hoping she would show herself, make some sound. She hugged the tree trunk more tightly. Closing her eyes, she thought of Chuck, and that centered her, drove some panic away. More minutes passed, Jeb still standing, turning. And then he stopped. She saw him look up into a nearby tree and her heart fell.

Jeb started looking up into other nearby trees. He walked along her path yet again, now with his eyes down, looking off to the sides. He stopped across from her tree and she saw a smile cross his face. He licked his lips.

She closed her eyes again, praying he would go on, but he didn't. He drew his gun and started toward her tree. He looked up into it, but Sarah knew he didn't see her. Still, he headed for the tree. He walked slowly. When he got to the tree, he walked around it, circling it in the direction opposite Sarah's. He got to where she climbed up and he knelt and examined the ground. Then he stood and peered up. His eyes met hers.

A slow, greasy smile split his face. He aimed the gun at her. "Mighty nice view, an' even better now that ya shortened yer skirt." His tone leered more intensely than his expression. "Climb on down so's I can climb aboard,...Sarah."

His use of her name terrified her, thickened the moment. She was trying to decide what to do. A part of her wanted him to shoot her; she would rather die than live through what she knew was coming. But another part of her wanted to live — she wanted the life she and Chuck had imagined together beneath the tree, the one next to the cemetery. She did not want to die beneath this tree.

She did not want to be violated beneath this tree.

There had to be an escape, there had to be hope: she told Chuck she had faith. As slowly as she could, she began to climb down to face her fate.

Jeb watched her, his gun on her. He was staring under her shortened skirt. She had no means to prevent it. She jumped down from the bottom limb and stood in front of Jeb, her mind empty, her body consumed by dread.

But her old con instincts, habits, overrode her fear. She let her shoulders sink, her chin fall, chasing all hint of defiance or resistance from her posture, her face. Staring at the ground, she reached down and gathered the ragged edge of her skirt and the bottom of her apron in her hands. She lifted the skirt enough to display her knees, the swell of her thighs. She heard Jeb inhale involuntarily.

"Where do you want me?"

His grin was a serpent. "Jes lay down an' keep hikin' that skirt. I wanna see it a-fore I plug it."

She made herself comply. She sat, then reclined. She pulled her skirt higher, but left herself still hidden. Jeb cackled in victory.; the cackle spitting drool. She saw him look around, pleased that none of the others were near.

"I should do this in front-a Dan'l, and maybe I will, the second time." Staring at her, he unfastened his pants, allowing them to drop, but he kept his gun in his hand.

"If ya relax, ya'll find ya might enjoy this a li'l too." His smile reeked of self-satisfaction. "Maybe a lot. But I doan care one way or t' other." He hobbled to her and lowered himself on top of her. The horror and stench of him filled her nostrils, her mind. She slipped her hand into her apron pocket.

When she felt his weight settle on her, his hand start to move between them, to move the impeding garments, she slipped her hand, lightning fast, from her pocket. She drove one of her scissor blades deep into Jeb's neck. Only the handle and the finger ring showed.

Jeb tried to scream, agony, but it came out a gurgle. His wound sprayed the woods red. He rolled from her and for a second the air itself turned red. Hot wet showered her. More gurgling.

Sarah did not look at Jeb. She vaulted up and raced deeper into the woods. She heard Jeb's gurgling behind her die, his blood soaking her face and chest.

* * *

Sarah ran blindly — until her lungs burned and her legs were leaden, numb.

She fell to the ground. As she gasped for breath, she grabbed a fistful of dead leaves and frantically wiped the blood from her face.

She heard yells, distinct, separate. The men were hunting for Jeb but hadn't found him. She lurched back to her feet and ran on.

* * *

Casey spurred his horse. Chuck sped up, Whirlwind barely challenged even by the other horse's full effort. Moments later, they crested a low rise and Casey pulled his horse to a stop. They had been riding along the edge of the woods; the woods growing thicker as they rode. The crest allowed them to look ahead a distance along the edge of the woods.

Chuck had known for a while that Casey thought they were getting close but now, looking into the shallow valley, densely wooded along one side for a great distance, he knew they had caught up — to something.

Casey glanced at Chuck. "You see 'em?"

"Yes, the horses there in the distance?"

"Yep. Theirs. We were closin' and then, jes a bit back, I saw that the gait o' the overburdened horse had changed, lame. But I doan see no one…"

Chuck scanned the scene closely reining Whirlwind in and himself: he wanted to rush down the incline and find his love, find Sarah. "Neither do I, Casey."

Casey's eyes had dark circles around them. He needed rest, Chuck knew, maybe medical attention, but he had been unstoppable. They had been unstoppable. But this was not the scene Chuck imagined they would find, five horses ambling, no person in sight.

Whirlwind trembled beneath Chuck and blew. Casey nodded. "That horse is-a man o' war. C'mon. Git your gun out." Casey pulled his rifle free and cocked it.

They rode slowly towards the horses. They could see and hear no sign of Daniel or Sarah or the men — at least not until they got near the horses. On the ground, close to the wood's edge, were two lengths of rope, one still knotted on one end.

Casey stopped and took a slow look around. He nodded for Chuck to keep watch. He swung down from his horse, squeezing his eyes closed for a second when his feet hit the ground, then he stepped carefully toward the rope. He studied the ground.

He looked up. "I doan know what happened, but it likey ain't good. Tie all the horses and follow me."

It took Chuck a minute to get the horses together. He tied each of them securely, Whirlwind last.

He jogged from the horse to Casey, who was standing at the edge of the woods. "The lame horse stopped them, I think. There was some blood on the ground near the ropes. Someone got shot or hit and then tied up. But that someone escaped…"

Chuck spirits shot up. Hope. "Sarah?"

"No, boots leadin' away, topmost prints. But," he looked at the ground again, "I take it Miss Sarah got away from 'em, somehow. Ran into the woods," with that Casey started in himself, Chuck on his heels "and they followed. Four, and then the tied one."

They moved cautiously. Even Chuck could have followed the trail. It went deeper and deeper into the woods.

Casey halted. He glanced around, noticing something, then stepped off the trail. Chuck saw a look of panic and anger grow on Casey's face. Casey bent down and stood back up. In his hands was the torn bottom of a skirt.

Sarah's skirt.

Chuck felt the Idaho sky fall on his head, an imponderable weight. He sank to his knees.

* * *

AN/2: Tune in for 29, "Jonah's Song". _Three chapters t' go, I reckin'._

Comment? Thought?


	29. Jonah's Song

A/N1: Here we go. A chapter with a somewhat complex structure.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

_Jonah's Song_

* * *

Wednesday, October 14, 1885  
Idaho Falls Territory

* * *

The ribs and terrors in the whale,  
Arched over me a dismal gloom,  
While all God's sun-lit waves rolled by,  
And lift me deepening down to doom.

I saw the opening maw of hell,  
With endless pains and sorrows there;  
Which none but they that feel can tell —  
Oh, I was plunging to despair.

— Melville, From _Jonah's Song (Moby-Dick)_

* * *

Part One

* * *

Chuck was on his knees, awash in despair.

Seeing the bottom of Sarah's dress — it had to be hers — terrified him. For a moment, he could not see, his vision blighted by black distress.

"Chuck!" It was Casey's voice in the black, angry, stern. "Git up, Chuck. This ain't _her_. An' there ain't no sign of struggle here. C'mon, brace up, soldier! On yer feet!"

Chuck roused himself. His vision cleared, and he stood. "Sorry, Casey. I'm just so frightened for her."

Casey dropped the fabric. "I know. Let's go."

They followed the trail, running until Casey stopped again. The trail diverged, forked, one part of it, more traveled, heading deeper into the woods, the other, less traveled, heading toward a tree. Casey turned onto the less traveled and began to run. It only took them a moment to arrive beneath the tree. One of Daniel's men was on the ground. His pants were around his ankles, his back parts facing the sky. Undergrowth, blood-spattered, dripped around him.

Stepping closer, Chuck saw the blade of a pair of scissors sticking up out of the man's neck.

Chuck was so shocked by the scene that he did not react, did not understand it. And then he did. Casey squatted down, looking around the man carefully. After a few seconds of concentration, he pulled the gun from Jeb's dead hand. He stood back up, smiling grimly. "No sheep t' the slaughter, Miss Walker. Looks like she had a weap'n, after all. But there's only one shot left in it. Ain't no six-gun shears. An' there's still four other men out here. She has-ta be frightened out o' her mind; she didn't think to take Jeb's gun."

Casey started back toward the other path and they took it. Chuck kept up with Casey but his mind was still beneath the tree, with the gun, the half-naked corpse, the blood. _Sarah! Sarah, please survive!_

* * *

Sarah fell, twisting her ankle.

The twist was not severe, but it hobbled her. That, coupled with her exhaustion, her sense of deepening doom, the all-over-everywhere gluey feeling and the sickly sweet smell of blood, had brought her to her knees. She knew the men were behind her.

She had veered into the thickest woods but they were thinning now. The undergrowth and the trees were sparse and getting more sparse. She fell forward onto her hands, gasping for air. She forced herself to look up — consider her forward path. She was near the opposite edge of the woods. Ahead of her was an outcropping of rock, chimney-shaped and steep-faced. Her thought again was to climb. She scrambled to her feet, gulping in a burning lungful of air, and ran on, toward the rocks.

When she reached them, she started to climb the steep face, grasping for handholds and footholds. Her arms ached, her legs were responding but she could no longer feel them or her feet, only the ache in her ankle. Up, up, up she climbed until she reached the top. She threw her upper body onto the flat top of the outcropping, and rested, her legs hanging down.

"Well, ain't that a purty sight?"

Sarah clawed the rock and pulled herself all the way to the flat top, twisting as she did. Below her, emerging from the woods, was another of Daniel's men. He holstered his gun as he gazed up at her. "A purty sight and a hellcat — Jeb would agree if he could agree. But I've _tamed _many a hellcat." He smirked. "I'd call you a hell-hag, but there sure ain't nothing hag-like about you."

The man was walking towards her, almost prancing. She had one blade left. At least two more men were hunting her. Climbing the outcropping seemed like a serious error. She had nowhere to go and had positioned herself for sacrifice, as if on a bleak altar.

The man stood at the bottom of the outcropping, working out his ascent. Sarah scooted backward, farther away from the edge, out of the man's sight. She looked around her. At first she saw nothing that could aid her — but then she realized that the rocks themselves were her weapons. She heard the man climb.

Pushing herself up, Sarah surveyed the top. A few feet from her, sunken a bit into the packed dirt, was a stone, large and heavy. She ran to it and began to push it back and forth, dislodging it. The stone was almost too heavy; it took precious seconds to free it. When she did, she began to roll it toward the edge, dust, and mud sticking to her bloody hands. Her ankle was aching. She got the stone near the edge and she peeked over. The man was more than halfway to the top, his boots making it harder for him to climb than it had been for Sarah in her soft leather shoes. His effort engrossed him and he did not see Sarah. She went back to the stone and rolled it to the edge. She lined it up quickly but carefully with the man and then she pushed it to the very edge, teetering.

Holding her breath, she gave it a gentle shove, trying not to send it to the left or right. The stone plummeted. It hit the face of the outcropping a few feet above the man and bounced. He pushed himself back, holding on, to look up in response to the sound. The stone's bounce took it into the man's face and he fell backward to the ground, the stone landing near his head and bouncing heavily two or three times before it stopped and rolled a few feet toward the edge of the woods. He was still, his face bloodied, one leg twisted at a severe, unnatural angle, not at a joint.

Sarah closed her eyes and leaned over, her hands on her knees. She was shaking — fear and exhaustion. She turned and glanced around her again. More stones were available: she could try to hold the top of the outcropping against the other two men. But they could separate, each climbing one side of the outcropping. Sarah doubted she could use stones in time to keep at least one from reaching the top, and they might always wound her from the bottom, shoot her.

_Shoot her. _Jeb had a gun and Sarah had not thought about taking it. She ran to the edge and began to climb down to the man, new energy in her. She could get his gun belt and gun, defend herself, fight back with something other than rocks and scissors. Her ankle was throbbing, but she kept descending. She lowered herself onto the ground and approached the man cautiously. She was unsure if he was dead or alive — she was only sure it severely injured him. The stone had wrecked his face; it was bloody, pulpy. She could see that his lower leg was broken and bone must have pierced flesh because blood was soaking through the fabric of his pants leg.

He did not move. She stood near him and stilled her breathing. She heard his, shallow and irregular. Swallowing her fear, she stepped to him and reached for his gun.

He did not move. She got hold of the handle of the man's gun and lifted it from the holster. She turned it around and pointed it at him. Still, he did not move. She thought about shooting him.

A gunshot. The gun in her hand seemed to explode and fly away. It landed on the ground near the foot of the outcropping.

"Don't go after it." Daniel's voice. "I would hate to have to kill my fiancée so close to the wedding." Sarah looked up. Daniel was striding toward her, breathing hard. He had no hat on. His gun was in his hand and pointed at her.

She felt her shoulders droop, despair clutching her heart. Daniel reached the man's head — Sarah was standing near his feet — and he gave Sarah a warning look before holstering his gun and squatting down.

As Daniel bent his head to view the man, Sarah saw that the back of Daniel's head was bloody from the earlier rifle blow. Daniel sighed matter-of-factly and stood up. He drew his gun and shot the man in the head, and then stepped to Sarah. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her to him.

"I saw Jeb."

Sarah expected Daniel to ask for the other scissors blade, but he did not. "I know what he had planned for you. Son-of-a-bitch deserved it. No man's deflowering you but me." He ignored the blood, dirt, and sweat on her face and kissed her. She had no energy left to pretend. As his mouth closed on hers, she pushed him away, gagging involuntarily, repulsed.

Daniel's face blackened. He hit her with the back of his hand, the blow sudden and violent, knocking her back and opening a space between them. "_Knew it_…" he hissed, "I knew it. You don't want me. Never did. You want that sorry excuse for a man, that...schoolteacher."

Sarah put her hand to her face where he hit her. Her despair made her reckless. "He's a _man_, Daniel, the kind of man a hateful, vulgar..._thing_...like you cannot imagine!" Her fury, unexpected, froze Daniel. She marched toward him, railing, punctuating her words with her pointing finger. "You can't understand the strength required to love, to be meek, to put others first. You are your own idol — a golden calf with its head up its own ass — and your self-worship blinds you to everything else!

"I _know _what you are, Daniel, the demon you are, the monster, _the murderer_." The word rang out.

Sarah marched on: "Chuck is a _great_ man; you are _disguised_ as a man. You couldn't live a minute in his shoes: you're too weak; he wouldn't live a minute in yours: he's too good."

Daniel retreated through Sarah's diatribe but stopped when she said Chuck's name.

He sprung at her, grabbing her shoulders, and tackling her to the ground, sitting on her, his weight making it hard for her to breathe. He leaned down, putting his hands hard against her shoulders, pushing her down onto the hard ground, trapping her arms against her sides. He lowered his face until his swollen nose touched the tip of her nose.

"No reason now to take you with me. But I'm glad I came for you. I can give you back to Chuck broken, used and disfigured. Let's see how great he is when he has to face the horror I'll make you feel, the monster I will make of you."

Sarah spat at him. "Someone will come. Someone will stop you. A posse can't be far behind."

Sarah was hoping for time, to delay what she could see in Daniel's eyes. But he was too far gone. His eyes were wild again, hunted, far worse than before. He pulled his gun from his holster and then tossed it to himself, catching it by the barrel. He lifted it over his head like a hammer.

Sudden gunshots split the air, not nearby but not distant. Daniel shifted his focus for a second from her to the shots. Sarah twisted beneath him, surprising him with her strength. He fell off her to her left. She jammed her right hand in her pocket and grasped the blade. She flashed it out and drove it deep in Daniel's thigh.

She jumped up and started running. Another shot rang out next to her. She stopped.

"Turn around, you blonde bitch," Daniel commanded. Sarah turned around and for a moment, she had an inkling of Chuck's vision of Daniel. Whatever effort Daniel made around others, around her, to hide, was no longer being made. The civil mask was torn away. Standing there, his true face, a gross, wormy mass of seething hatred, wild desire and abject fear, was visible to her.

The monster in the man.

He reached down and, using his left hand, yanked the scissor blade from his leg. He gazed at it as if it took him a moment to know it, then he faced her and smiled Belial's smile, claiming her weapon for himself. He brandished it.

Limping, he began to cross the distance to her. She knew he was beyond reason now, beyond manipulation. As he closed, she knew that he had no thought except that hers was the flesh in which he would realize his hatred, desire, and fear, carving it into her skin, scarring her forever.

* * *

Casey held up his hand, a motion not only for Chuck to stop but also to be quiet. Casey crouched down and Chuck imitated him. Ahead of them, approaching, were two of Daniel's men.

"I tell ya," one said, a man in a dull reddish vest, "Jeb done found her and went ta town on her. He's keepin' her for hisself, that's why we're goin' back to the horses. Bet ya ten dollars he's gone, the woman with him, left us Daniel, left us to deal with David…"

The other man, who was wearing a plaid shirt, nodded, not sure. "Could be...We wandered a long way off this trial followin' yer hunch — and now we're gonna miss all the fun. An', I tell ya, dealing with David is dealin' with the Devil. No margin in it. That man…"

A shot in the distance.

Casey stood up suddenly, making himself visible to the men. "Doan ya two move annother step. I'll gun ya down, an' should, jes for the words ya been sayin'."

Chuck was unsure what to do. He had his gun in his hand and was about to stand when he saw Casey motion again for him to stay hidden. Chuck glanced at the two men. They had stopped and moved apart. They went for their guns.

Casey was fast. His speed did not surprise Chuck. But the two men were both fast enough. Casey got off one shot and then another, barely a gap between them, but the second man got off a shot before he fell to the ground, as the first already had.

Casey sighed strangely and sank down. Chuck crawled over to him. His upper thigh was bloody.

He spoke through gritted teeth. "Damned headache. A little slow. Thought I could drop those clowns an' keep ya outta danger, but I was too slow. He pounded the ground with his hand in pain and frustration. Chuck got a penknife from his pocket and sliced Casey's pants leg. The wound was bleeding, but Casey, staring at it, smiled grimly. "Not good, but not deadly. Here," Casey undid his bandana, "tie it 'round my leg tight as you can, Chuck, then gimme that branch ovver there." Chuck did as Casey told him. He handed Casey the branch.

Casey put the branch under the tied bandana and used it to twist the bandana tighter. Just as he did another shot was fired. "Go! Find Miss Walker and save her. Yer the better man, never fergit it. Now, go!"

Chuck did as Casey ordered. He let himself run full speed; he had held back a bit for Casey before, but now his long legs ate up the ground, he leaped over bushes, ducked branches, following the trail. He saw the woods begin to open up, the woods becoming rocky. In a moment, he was out. Ahead of him, he saw Daniel and Sarah. He drew his gun.

_Sarah!_

* * *

Sarah ducked to the side as Daniel got near her. But she was so tired that she moved too slowly. He got his fingers in the back of her dress, and pulled her to him, the fabric ripping but not releasing her. She looked up and saw Chuck standing not far away, his gun in his hand. _Chuck! _

Daniel grabbed her while still holding onto the scissor blade. He readjusted his grip on her, securing her in the crook of his arm. He pressed the blade against Sarah's throat. She felt it's blade bite into her flesh. She knew Daniel saw Chuck too.

"Howdy, schoolmarm," Daniel said, his voice sounding calm and inhuman simultaneously, "good of you to come to the shearing. I'll shear Sarah while you watch."

Chuck advanced on them slowly, passing the dead man on the ground without a glance. "No, you aren't. You will die here, or you will die later, on the gallows. It's time for you to go, Daniel, to go back to hell."

Daniel laughed. "David Shaw, schoolmarm, raised me, what terrors does hell have in store for me that my father's house didn't have?"

"We all have hard-luck stories, Daniel. Some are worse than others. But none can justify what you've done — to Jill Roberts, to Ida Reynolds."

Daniel sneered. "What, I'll be punished for killing two whores, one professional, the other amateur? That first schoolmarm, Ida, told me she was carrying my baby, but she was lying, trying to trap me, and I killed her for it. Roberts thought she, a low-down whore, could refuse to bend over for me when she was told. I taught them both their lessons, schoolmarm."

"Like David taught you yours?" Chuck's eyes met Sarah's; she spun in Daniel's grasp and got away from him. She ran a few steps and turned around. Daniel was keeping track of her out of the corner of his eye, but he was still facing Chuck, his gun on Chuck.

"She won't get far. I'll kill you and then I'll finish with her. And then I'll leave...Maybe head back to Boston, to Beacon Hill. Rejoin my friends, find a new whore…"

"Put the gun down, Daniel, or I will shoot you."

Daniel smirked. "What, with that shaking gun?"

Sarah looked at Chuck's gun. The barrel was shaking noticeably. Shaw's smirk grew. Sarah wanted to shout a warning but was too late. Both guns fired at almost the same instant.

* * *

Chuck felt a searing pain in his head.

His forehead, his temple, was ablaze. Fire! Fire! Fire! He saw Daniel spin. And then there was a shadow, giant, blocking out the sun, a roar, and a shadow, blacking out the sun. Chuck's vision turned white - _whiter than any fuller could white it_.

_Whiteness. The crowning attribute of the terrible…_Melville.

Chuck's mind filled with _Moby-Dick_, words, 'The Whiteness of the Whale':

_Here thou beholdest even in a dumb brute, the instinct of the knowledge of demonism in the world. Though thousands of miles from Oregon, when the young colt smells that savage musk, the rending, goring bison are as present as to the deserted wild foal of the prairies, which this instant they may be trampling into dust._

The Whiteness of the Whale. Chuck head full of the words of that chapter.

_Visions of white, visions of whiteness, visions of nothing, visions of nothingness, visions blank, visions, blank visions, blank of visions...gone...gone._

And then Chuck felt gentle hands on his face. "Chuck, Chuck, love, please! Oh, God, please let him be okay." He heard cloth tearing, felt his face being tended to.

"Chuck, Chuck, please. Please, we're going to be married…"

Chuck felt a smile grow on his face, heard the voice whimper and felt a warm body pressed against his, sobbing. "Married. We sure as hell are."

Whiteness to blackness.

* * *

Chuck snapped back to consciousness.

Sarah was above him, her face covered with blood, sweat and tears - and a lot of dirt. She was wiping at his forehead, his temple. She saw him open his eyes, and she gave him a smile of pure grace, a gift from God. She was a vision but he was not having a vision.

"Chuck," she pronounced his name with care but also with joy. "It's okay. It's all okay. The shot grazed your head. Lots of blood but not too deep. You're going to be okay."

"Wait! Where's Daniel?" Chuck rose, propping himself on his elbows.

He saw what was left of Daniel on the ground. Nearby, eating grass that was growing near the outcropping, stood Whirlwind. His reins were still tied to a tree limb. His hooves were gorey, blood shining on his legs up to his knees.

Sarah followed Chuck's glance to at the mangled body and the horse, then she faced Chuck.

"What happened, Sarah?"

She shook her head, and he realized how tired she looked. "I'm...not sure. You and Daniel fired, but you fired first, Chuck. Your shot hit Daniel and altered his. His grazed your head. But just as that happened, Whirlwind came from…nowhere and he...attacked Daniel, reared up and roared and knocked him down, and then he stomped him and stomped him and stomped him. Daniel's dead."

"So, I shot Daniel?"

Sarah nodded. "You had to, Chuck."

"But Whirlwind killed him?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know. I believe…your shot would have killed him. But Whirlwind...made sure of it. He trampled Daniel so badly that I'm not sure where your bullet hit Daniel." She paused and glanced at Whirlwind. "The black horse, Chuck, not the white whale."

Chuck sat in stunned amazement. And then he jerked. He rose, Sarah helping him to stand. "We've got to check on Casey. They shot him."

"I'm here, kid."

Casey was sitting on nearby on a rock, his leg out, and the bandana still wrapped around it. He was staring at the lumpy smear of blood, flesh and bone that had been Daniel Shaw. He then gazed at Whirlwind. "Damndest thin' I evver saw. I do believe that horse likes the two o' you teggether as much as me."

Sarah glanced up at Chuck. "You're okay?" He nodded. "But something's changed."

Sarah had a funny, alarmed look on her face. "What?"

He whispered. "I have a feeling...my visions are gone."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

"Is that a good thing?"

He looked at the sky. It was just the sky: blue and vast and airy and open, not a judge's gaze, not the Eye of God, not the Anvil of Hearts, not the ribs and terrors of the whale.

"Yeah," he said, "it is absolutely a good thing. Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I will be. I need a hot bath and a long nap. And then another hot bath and long nap."

Chuck smiled at her. "Let's go home."

* * *

In black distress, I called my God,  
When I could scarce believe him mine,  
He bowed his ear to my complaints -  
No more the whale did me confine.

With speed he flew to my relief,  
As on a radiant dolphin borne;  
Awful, yet bright, as lightning shone  
The face of my deliverer God.

My song for ever shall record  
That terrible, that joyful hour;  
I give the glory to my God,  
His all the mercy and the power.

\- Melville, from _Jonah's Song (Moby-Dick)_

* * *

Part Two

* * *

It took a long time to get out of the woods.

Whirlwind was himself again, and Sarah coaxed him into allowing Casey to ride him. They walked the horse through the woods. Casey was uneasy in the saddle, but they returned him to his own horse. Chuck climbed on Daniel's horse and Sarah got on Whirlwind and they all started back toward Idaho Falls, the Walker ranch.

They had traveled a short distance when Sheriff Constance, Nehi, Jack Walker, and a host of other men from the ranch appeared. Devon was with them. They stopped and made camp. Devon tended Casey and then Chuck and Sarah. Some ranch hands went and gathered the bodies of Daniel and his men, and they buried them there, on the edge of the woods. None of the men had family anyone knew, so there was no need to take the bodies back.

Around the fire, Casey told the story of the chase, his and Chuck's part of it. He told them too about what Daniel had done, both in Boston and in Idaho Falls. Chuck and Sarah left him to the tale and moved away from the fire, finding a spot off to the side where they could wrap themselves together in several blankets. They slept there in one another's arms.

In the night, Chuck woke up. Nehi was sitting next to them on a tree stump. He had a series of cigarettes rolled beside him on the stump, and was lighting the next cigarette from the nearly vanished butt of its predecessor. He saw Chuck wake up and he grinned in the dark.

"Go back to sleep an' hold yer lady, Dee-vine. I's a-watchin' over ya tonight — me an' Gawd."

"God, Nehi?" Chuck kept his voice low.

Nehi chuckled fondly. "It's like you said, Dee-vine. The world's fulla things that doan exist."

Chuck smiled at his friend, nestled against his fiancée, and was immediately asleep.

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time for Chapter 30, "Port Anchorage".

Chapters 30 and 31 will bring our tale to a close.

A/N3: Warning: Writerly Stuff.

I've not said much about what I have been up to in writing _Heaven and Hell_. A guest reviewer noted — quite a few chapters back — that the story has a certain 'feel' in common with my first story, _Beautiful Creatures. _That's right, and the reason why is worth dwelling on for a moment.

I called _Beautiful Creatures '_a Romance' — meaning not that it was romantic (although it was, but note the small 'r') rather, and more importantly, that it took place in a world of wonders and heightened perceptions. _Heaven and Hell_ — like most Westerns (and this is often misunderstood by those who dislike the genre) — is a Romance.

_Moby-Dick_, one of the books that travel inside and outside _Heaven and Hell, _is also a Romance. Nathaniel Hawthorne, Melville's friend (to whom Melville dedicated _Moby-Dick_), wrote in the preface to his _The House of the Seven Gables:_

_When a writer calls his work a Romance, it need hardly be observed that he wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion and material, which he would not have felt himself entitled to assume had he professed to be writing a Novel…[A Romance] - while as a work of art, it must rigidly subject itself to the laws, and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerve from the truth of the human heart - has fairly a right to present the truth under circumstances to a great extent, of the writer's own choosing or creation. If he think fit, also, he may so manage his atmospherical medium to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrich the shadows of the picture._

So Melville did on a grand scale and so I have done on a much smaller scale in writing this curious little Western Romance.

_ZG_


	30. Port, Anchorage

A/N1: A small change of plans. I inserted this brief, quiet chapter as postlude to the chase. Chapter 31 will be "The Play Within the Play". It will be a longish chapter, followed by Chapter 32, "The Pluriverse", a chapter that will serve as our epilogue.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY

_Port, Anchorage_

* * *

Thursday, October 15, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck, Sarah, Casey, Devon, Jack, and the ranch hands arrived back at the Walker ranch.

The sheriff, Nehi, and a few other men who had been along parted company with them to go back to town.

The ranch was still as they approached — until Ellie stepped onto the porch and saw them coming. She started waving her arms and whooping in joy and relief. Her display seemed to make everyone less weary and less pensive, and the group sped the horses toward the house. Ellie practically attacked Devon, pulling him off his horse and hugging and kissing him. Devon responded eagerly but stared at Ellie in puzzlement as she pulled away. She ran to Chuck, who was helping Sarah off Whirlwind, and she hugged them both at the same time. Chuck noted that Ellie ran first to Devon — and it pleased him, it did not disappoint him; he was glad of it, glad his sister was in love, as she obviously was. Ellie wanted to talk — and Chuck expected a lecture, but he begged off of it. He was stiff and sore from riding and heartsore from all that had happened.

Chuck went blank for most of the ride. Profoundly grateful that they were all alive and profoundly grateful that nothing worse had happened, he was still having a hard time with himself, what he had done. Sarah had ridden close to him the entire distance, pensive herself but concerned for him.

She took his hand when Ellie went to help Devon with Casey. Tugging his hand, she led Chuck around the ranch house to the rear. Two buildings stood in the rear, but Sarah led him past them, out past a garden still teeming with fall vegetables, and to a large isolated apple tree that stood near the garden. A few apples, red and shiny, were hanging heavily from the tree, and the sweet, winey scent of overripe fruit rose from fallen apples amid fallen leaves.

Sarah gazed around dreamily, sighing, "I spent a lot of time up in this tree, Chuck, especially during my awkward years. I used to bring a book out here, whatever book I was reading, and climb up to that limb there," she moved close to him and pointed and they both looked along her finger, up into the tree, "and spend long summer days, eating apples and turning pages and daydreaming."

"No, you didn't," Chuck said, shaking his head. Sarah turned to him, her mouth open in surprise, and he went on: "You had no awkward years."

She punched him softly on the shoulder and both said 'ouch' at the same time. Sarah's hand was stiff and swollen from Daniel shooting the gun from it, and even the soft blow to his shoulder traveled to Chuck's sore head.

They both laughed, and the heavy pensiveness lifted.

Sarah put her arms around him, her head tilted back, smiling up at him. Her eyes teased him. "So, you still haven't talked to my dad?"

"No, I haven't." He shook his head. "Too many folks around on the ride. But I will tonight. Promise. Soon, it will all be official. We'll start planning our wedding."

She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him but grimaced when her ankle reacted to the effort. So, he bent down to her and kissed her. They held the kiss and each other for a long time.

When Chuck ended the kiss, he put his hand on Sarah's chin, gently, keeping her head tilted up toward him. "Before I ask your father, though, there is something I will have to tell you both. I was coming to tell you...before...all this happened."

She nodded. "Okay, Chuck, tell us whatever you have to tell us. And, Chuck?"

"Yes?"

"It's okay, you know, what you did. You were saving me. You didn't have a choice. It wasn't an act of cold, premeditated vengeance. It was for me and to save yourself. You had to kill Daniel because you love me and he wouldn't give you a choice. He would've killed us both."

"I know. And I know why I did it, but — I shot a man intending to kill him. Perhaps my shot would have killed him if Whirlwind had not...done what he did, perhaps not, but that doesn't change what I intended."

Sarah responded, thinking aloud. "No...it doesn't. But you had to act, just as I did...before you got there, if I was going to...live. I hate that I had to do it.

"I hate that I could. But if I hadn't, if I couldn't, I wouldn't be standing under this apple tree with the man I love, free at last openly to love him as I have wanted since that first day at the cemetery.

"So in another way, I don't hate that I could. I just pray neither of us ever faces such awful choices again. It's like that line in the Lord's Prayer: 'and lead us not into temptation; deliver us from evil' — doesn't that mean something like _spare us from the awful choices that facing evil causes_?"

Chuck reflected on her words. "Yes, Sarah, that's good, really good; I hadn't thought of it." After a glance at her, Chuck closed his eyes, bowed his head and intoned the words slowly, quietly: "Lead us not into temptation; deliver us from evil. Amen."

She took his hand, and they stood together. After a few minutes of silence, Sarah glanced at Chuck sideways, a sidelong question. He noticed. "What is it, Sarah?"

She did not respond immediately, but at last, she asked, directly: "Do you believe in _God_, Chuck?"

"You've heard me pray, and preach."

Sarah gave him a grin with a tincture of suggestiveness. "Yes, Mr. Preacher, _I surely have_."

Chuck swallowed. "Well, then…"

"Well, then, _nothing_, Chuck. Tell me, answer me." She let her grin go and looked at him seriously.

"I do. I don't believe in the God of Athaliah Justus. And I don't know that my motives for belief are the same as most others', but, yes, _I believe_." He inhaled.

"I believe God reveals Himself, but now I take it to be only by silent warnings and by putting us in situations that reveal our ignorance to us, if we pay attention. I don't think God puffs us up with knowledge, or about our knowledge, especially of Him. All we know of God is that we know nearly nothing of God."

She studied his face closely, her blue eyes were intense. "Do you think God is love?"

"Yes, surely, but — that's a hard saying. Love itself is a mystery. How God could _be_ love is another mystery."

"Maybe we'll understand it, a little, if we love each other as hard as we can."

He pulled her to him, wrapping his long arm around her shoulders. "That's the way to learn. Every human being is a mystery, and our love for each other is another mystery. All we can do try to keep our wits about us, without groping blindly for reason or for facts, all we can do is face uncertainty, doubt, and confusion, and to — well, there's this great phrase of Melville's in my favorite chapter of _Moby-Dick_ called 'The Line', a chapter about the dangers of whale lines, ropes that run from boat to whale..." Sarah nodded.

"Ishmael notes that human beings live enveloped in whale lines and that living, living well, requires cultivating 'a certain self-adjusting buoyancy and simultaneousness of volition and action' That seems like the best we can do among the whale lines, the terrors and mysteries that envelope us. It's Melville's darkling gloss on 'walking by faith', I guess." He turned his head to face her, feeling self-conscious about having gone on so long. But she was still gazing at him with that same blue intensity.

The words spoke themselves. "I love you, Sarah Walker."

She turned to him, keeping his arm around her, ringing hers around his waist. "I love you, Chuck Bartowski. And don't get too used to the 'Walker'."

He smiled happily. "I'll try not to."

He pulled the length of her against the length of him and they kissed again. A short while later, they walked hand in hand into the house, through the back door.

* * *

Jack was standing in the main room. Casey was on the couch, his leg up, and Devon was squatting beside him.

Casey was answering Devon's questions but becoming visibly annoyed. "Okay, Doc, okay. I'll do what ya say. No movin' 'round fer a few days." Casey made a little boy's face in displeasure with the instructions.

Devon stood. He looked at Jack and shook his head. "Soldiers are the worst patients, and _old_ soldiers, especially. Fussier than old women."

Casey glared at Devon, but Ellie entered the room with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. Casey held his peace and Ellie filled everyone a glass. She held hers up. "Not standard procedure, but here's to the safe return of my family and my friends and my...loved ones." She glanced at Devon and they both blushed. Everyone drank.

Casey shook his head. "A man rides a-million miles with a headache from hell, gits hisself shot, rides t' demon horse and manages to git hisself home wihout a-bleedin' to death, and he gits served...lem-o'-nade…"

Devon returned the headshake. "Sorry, Casey, but no alcohol for you for a while."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Now that shure wounds me, Doc."

The group sat and talked for a while, telling Ellie a brief version of all that happened. After hearing about Sarah's ordeal, Ellie got up and quickly went to Sarah and joined her on the settee, taking her in her arms and hugging her.

"You're an amazing woman, Sarah," Ellie said to Sarah but loud enough for all to hear. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, but so glad you escaped. Talk to me about it anytime, day or night, whenever, okay?"

Sarah hugged Ellie back. "Okay, Ellie, thanks."

Chuck watched the two women, making no attempt to hide the tears in his eyes.

"Hey, Ellie," Chuck said when his voice would work again, "where's Morgan?"

"He's being Wu-ed."

Chuck grinned, making his eyes go wide. "Do I even want to know what that means?"

Ellie gave her head a thoughtful shake, smiling at her thoughts. "It seems Anna Wu invited him to move in with her in her luxury quarters above The Bar None. Evidently, this all got worked out yesterday. She wanted it, and Morgan's condition was that she marry him. She agreed. So, Morgan is to about to become a kept man."

Casey whistled. "Sounds like a sweet deal…"

* * *

Since Casey needed rest, and Chuck and Sarah too, Ellie and Devon left early.

They were to come back the next day. After they rode away, Chuck and Jack helped Casey out to the bunkhouse, to his bed, making sure he was comfortable and listening to him grouse about being an invalid.

When they got back to the house, they found Sarah in the kitchen. A woman was sitting with her Chuck did not know, but he guessed she was Yvonne Villa. She had dark hair but with a streak of white hair above her forehead. Although older, she was still handsome, with dark eyes and a bright smile that she aimed at Chuck as he walked in. He could see that both women had been crying, but the tears seemed to be happy. Sarah introduced the woman. "Chuck, this is Yvonne Villa. I've been looking forward to you two meeting."

Yvonne got up and came around the table. She gave Chuck a strong hug. "I'm glad to meet you, Charles Irving Bartowski."

Chuck laughed. Yvonne pulled back. "Sarah told me your full name a while back, I suppose before you had arrived in Idaho Falls. She taught it to me like an incantation, part of her attempt to hocuspocus the powers that be into bringing her a husband. It seems to have worked."

Sarah glanced down at the table and blushed. Yvonne looked over her shoulder and smiled at Sarah's embarrassment.

Jack spoke up. "Husband?" A grin split his face, but he deliberately narrowed his eyes. "I wondered about letting you two share them blankets last night."

Yvonne gave Chuck a raised eyebrow. "Have you been taking _advantage_, Chuck?"

Now Chuck blushed. "We only slept together. I mean...We were asleep but asleep together. Together but together asleep. I mean…"

Yvonne slapped Chuck's arm softly and playfully, looking back again at Sarah. "He is silver-tongued, just as you told me."

"Siver-_tongued_?" Jack asked. Chuck and Sarah's blushes both deepened.

Yvonne laughed again. "Be sure you come to visit us soon at the farm, Chuck, you and Sarah. You can even bring this worthless piece of sheep dung," she pointed at Jack, smiling fondly at him.

Yvonne crossed the room to stand behind Sarah. She put her hands on Sarah's shoulders and leaned down. She whispered something in Sarah's ear and Sarah's eyes went wide. She turned. "Yvonne!"

Yvonne laughed and whispered in Sarah's ear again. Sarah blushed as deeply as Chuck had ever seen, and she stared at him as she did, her smile one-sided. Yvonne patted Sarah's shoulder and left the kitchen.

Chuck walked around to sit beside Sarah. Jack sat down on the opposite side of the table. He smiled at them both. "Husband?"

Clearing his throat, Chuck began. "I do want to talk to you about _that_, Mr. Walker."

"Jack."

"Jack. But I need to tell you something. Did you know that David Shaw is dead?"

Jack nodded slowly. Sarah gasped. Jack answered with a hard whisper. "I heard. Doctor Woodcomb told me when he caught up with the posse. What happened? The doctor didn't seem to have the details, and we didn't have time to speak of it but for a moment — we rode hard to catch you."

Chuck nodded. "I assume Ellie told Devon the basics. Let me tell you it all. I was told this by my student, Monica Stutts, who was with David when he passed. She and her father were working for David..."

Chuck related the events of the story. Sarah and Jack both paid close attention, and twice Chuck could tell that Sarah was connecting the story with things that Daniel must have said or done while he had her. He left out the story about Emma as he narrated events on the Shaw ranch.

They asked him questions about the story and Chuck answered the ones that he could answer. When he finished, he took a breath and began the difficult part. He explained what David Shaw confessed to Monica, what he had done and tried to make Emma Walker do.

Chuck started with the death of Rena Shaw, her resemblance to Emma and to Sarah, and David's foul fixation on and crazed conflation of the three women. Sarah sat and stared down at the tabletop, stunned and appalled. Jack began to tear up. Eventually, he began to cry outright.

Sarah rallied, got up and went around the table and, standing behind him, put her arms around her father's neck and her head beside his. She must have sensed from his reaction what he had believed all these years. She kept telling him softly that it was okay, would be okay, that Emma would understand.

"That bastard...poisoned my wife, poisoned me against her, and then against her memory." Chuck sat with the father and daughter as they talked low to each other for a long time, comforting each other. Finally, Jack stood. He looked at Chuck.

"Chuck, if my daughter wants you as her husband, I would be proud to have you as a part of the family, but there are things about us…"

Sarah stopped him. "He knows, Dad. I told him. He knows our past."

Jack visibly relaxed. "Then I guess we might as well treat him as family now. He knows the family secrets." Jack put one hand on the table and leaned toward Chuck, extending the other. Chuck rose to take it.

"Thank you, Jack. I...I…"

"Just love my daughter with all your heart, soul, and mind, Chuck, do you hear me? Trust her before you trust yourself." Chuck stopped searching for words and nodded.

Jack gave Sarah a last hug. "You found a good one, Darlin', you really did. Put him in the guest room — and yourself in your room. No blanket-sharing tonight." He gave Chuck a look of good-natured warning and headed toward his own bedroom, the set of his shoulders sad but disburdened.

Sarah faced Chuck, her eyes brimming. "Thanks for telling me, Chuck. It makes me sad, angry, but there's nothing for it now. The Shaws' evil claimed them both at last.

She glanced at the door her father used. "At least, knowing the whole story, my dad's heart can reunite. I think split in two before Mom died. He loved her so much and was so hurt by what she had done - but he thought she had done it for him, and that made it all worse, still." She shook her head tenderly. "But, now, maybe he can grieve her with his whole heart, as he needs to, and can move on." She paused. "Are you sleepy right now?"

"Um...No, frankly, I would like to hold you for a while. And, be held, if that's not too unmanly a thing to ask?"

"I'd love it. Let me get a blanket. We can sit on the porch, look at the stars, and start planning the wedding."

"But, the blanket. Jack said..."

"We'll just be together under it but sitting together under it, together, Silver-tongue."

Chuck shook his head. Sarah kissed him, then whispered warmly in his ear. "You can do other things with that silvery tongue, like use it to kiss me."

She went to get the blanket, and they sat together for a long time, together, quiet and in love, recovering.

* * *

Friday, October 16, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Chuck ate breakfast with Sarah and Jack. The three of them looked in on Casey, who was healing, and railing against his confinement. He was back to being foreman of the ranch, even from his bunk.

Jack broke away to start his day's work, but he gave Chuck and Sarah strict orders to simply enjoy the day.

They went for a walk. Sarah's ankle was less sore, and Chuck's headache had dulled to little more than background noise. They held hands and Sarah told him the details of what happened to her. When she finished, he stopped and reached for her other hand. "I'm sorry, Sarah, I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been. But I knew…"

"Knew what, Chuck?"

"I knew your mettle, and so did Casey...When we found that part of your skirt, though, I admit, I despaired…"

"I despaired several times in those woods. But we are here, alive and mostly well. The shadows of all that will pass."

"But last night, you said you wanted to get married right away. Before the month ends. But, given what happened, maybe we should wait…"

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Chuck, did I seem _reluctant_ during our kisses last night on the porch?" He shook his head. She grinned. "Did I seem _unenthused_ about your — slightly daring — caresses?" He shook his head. "Could you feel the _thumping_ of my heart?" He nodded. "Did it seem slow, listless, unexcited?" He shook his head. She sighed. "That's because I _ache_ to be your wife, Chuck — your _wife_, with _all_ that means, _especially_ with all that means.

"What those men wanted, demanded...tried to _take_...that was all about...owning me, branding me...it was all about force. About their glorification and my humiliation. It had nothing to do with you, or how you desire me, or how I desire you. And," she stepped close, "oh, _how_ I do desire you, Chuck Bartowski!" She kissed him hard, her hunger unrestrained, and he stood for a moment, almost blank. She looked into his eyes. "Chuck?"

He gave himself a shake. "Sorry, Sarah, just imagining...our wedding night." He finished the sentence sheepishly.

Sarah gave him a grin wide with promise. "Good. Appetite is the best sauce." She winked at him. "And I'm feeling...saucy...too."

* * *

Ellie and Devon arrived before dinner. Molly was with them. The little girl was so excited to see Chuck and Sarah, and the ranch, and the sheep, she could hardly be managed. Luckily, Yvonne arrived at the same time, and she took Molly with her to look at some newborn lambs.

Devon quickly checked on Chuck. Chuck's head was healing well, although he would have a scar, Devon guessed. Devon then took a breath and went to see Casey. Shouts and curses were soon coming out of the bunkhouse.

Sarah checked on the noon meal, and that left Chuck and Ellie standing alone on the porch.

Ellie looked at her brother's wounded forehead. "I should slap you for being stupid; I should hug you for being brave. Instead, I'll just tell you I love you, little brother."

He smiled. "I love you too, big sister. Have you told him?"

Ellie's face went slack, incomprehension. "Him?"

"Devon."

"Told Devon what?"

"That you love him?"

Ellie shut her mouth and dropped her eyes. "No, no, not yet. I wasn't sure myself until he rode off to join the posse, and then my fear for him was the size of my fear for you, for Sarah, but different too, you know?"

"I know. Are you going to tell him? Because I'm certain he's been in love with you since he saw you just after you got off the train."

Ellie colored. "Really?"

"When you aren't watching, or especially when he thinks no one is, he looks at you and it's obvious. He almost admitted it to me days ago. But he's afraid of you, Ellie."

She stepped back. "Afraid? Of me?"

"You are kind of scary."

She shook her head. "No, you only think that because I had to parent you for years."

"I _may, _but everyone is a little afraid of you, Ellie."

"No…"

"Yes...Even that tall, handsome doctor. Your greeting pleased him last night, but I think he was unsure how to understand it. Put him out of his misery."

She smirked. "I _might_…"

Chuck shook his head and sighed with frustrated fondness. "And you wonder if people are afraid of you."

Just then, Sarah came out and called everyone to dinner. Yvonne and Molly came back from the barn. Sarah took Molly by the hand and everyone went to sit down.

* * *

As they finished eating, an official delegation from the town arrived: Langston Graham, Diane and Bernard Beckman, Roan Montgomery, Sheriff Constance, and Nehi.

Morgan came along a few minutes later, struggling to get his horse to obey him. Once everyone was there, they all took places in the living room.

Diane stood up and spoke. "A lot has changed in Idaho Falls. We need to talk about it, understand it, and adapt to our new conditions. Clear some things up." She scanned the room.

"Let's start with the first question: who contacted Pinkerton and brought Carina Miller to town?"

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time as final mysteries and subplots become clear and we find out how our favorite little town recovers from its ordeal. Plus, Shakespeare, and a wedding…

_ZG_

_Today marks my two-year anniversary on the site. Over a million and a half words later... Many thanks to those of you who have been reading along, and who have responded, over the past two years. _


	31. The Play Within The Play

A/N1: A series of scenes steering us toward our port.

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

_The Play Within The Play_

* * *

Friday, October 16, 1885

Idaho Falls

* * *

Beckman's question conjured Carina Miller from thin air. The door flew open, a puff of dust blew in, and Carina strode into the room. Without closing the door, she put her hands on her hips and said: "Good question, Diane, and I would like to know the answer too."

It took a second for the room to adjust to her appearance. In silence, Carina turned and closed the door. She wore a navy riding habit with a matching hat, light blue leather gloves, and tall black boots. She walked to the armchair Chuck sat in and she sat down on one of its arms. She put her arm behind Chuck's head and rested her hand on his opposite shoulder. Everyone watched; Sarah fidgeted and frowned. Carina smirked at her.

Sarah liked Carina but the sight of her hand resting fondly on Chuck's shoulder, and the sight of her accompanying smirk, made Sarah's face hot and her fists clench. Carina ignored Sarah's reaction and bent down, giving Chuck's cheek a kiss.

"Glad to see you alive, Boston." There was raillery in Carina's voice but genuine emotion too, relief and affection. She gave Chuck's shoulder a squeeze. She looked at Sarah: "Glad you are safe." Her smirk evaporated as she said this, her raillery too. She gave Sarah a look of unmistakable sisterhood. Carina had been there too, evidently, where Sarah had been in the woods. They nodded to each other and Sarah stared at Carina's hand on Chuck's shoulder until Carina shrugged and moved it into her lap.

Carina gazed around the room. "Don't everyone answer Diane at once."

Langston sat forward. "I'd like to know the answer. Someone's been steering the town, looking out for it, for a while."

Diane, still standing, started to tap her foot. She turned her gaze onto Roan. He stared back at her for a moment, then shook his head. As he did, Bernard, stretching up to his full, thin height, stood.

"I am the one. I sent for a Pinkerton agent."

Diane's face fell, her mouth open, her eyes wide. Her look at Bernard was one of deep and complete shock.

Bernard smiled, just a little. "What? I am the mayor. Can't I do what I think is best for the town?"

Diane's mouth finally closed. Then it opened to issue a single word of disbelief. "Bernard?"

"Yes," he stated, seeming both embarrassed but calm. "I knew how Sheriff Constance would approach the problem," he glanced at Mark, stuffed in a wooden chair looming large beside him, and while I do not disapprove - Mark's a fine lawman - I thought a more _active _effort might harmonize well with his more _reactive _ones. It was clear that the Numbers Gang was going to be hard to catch, clear that they were being directed by someone cunning. They weren't acting on a whim, randomly, as most gangs do. I did not understand the policy that underwrote their practice, but I knew there must be one and I was reasonably sure it had to be tied to both the railroad and the Shaws."

He had reddened as he spoke but he continued. "But I had no way to prove anything, and had only my suspicions confirmed, to the extent that they were, only by the patterns I took their actions to instantiate."

Diane reacted as if Bernard had answered in Russian. She blinked. Roan had much of the same reaction.

But Langston began to chuckle, at first quietly, and then more and more loudly. The chuckle was so warm-hearted and infectious that it spread quickly to everyone else, except Diane, Bernard, and Roan.

Langston brought himself under control and, wiping his eyes, looked at Bernard's embarrassed face. "How did I miss this? It was you, Bernard, who told me about Ruth Justus's calf-love for Chuck, or you told Diane, and she told me. And, now that I recall, it was you, wasn't it, who first brought Chuck's application for our teaching job to my attention, telling me that it was...interesting, worth a second look...even after Diane had passed by him as over-qualified."

Jack interrupted. "And, at the barbeque, it was you who gave me the hint that Daniel might cause trouble, to watch him and Vincent…"

Bernard shrugged a tiny shrug. "I was sure that Daniel, egotist that he was notwithstanding, had begun to see through Miss Walker's courageous facade, and to suspect that her affections were completely engaged elsewhere."

Sarah stared at Bernard. "You knew?"

"I knew all along. Miss Walker, I have known you since you were a girl, watched you grow into a fine woman, overcoming various...obstacles...and I knew that Daniel Shaw could never be the choice of a heart such as yours, not really. After that, it was just a matter of paying attention. I saw you come down the hill from the cemetery the day Chuck interviewed with the school board, and I saw you...afterward…" — Sarah knew he meant he saw her eavesdropping on the interview — "and so I could tell that your heart had made its choice. But I also knew the power of the Shaws, that they had to be using it to coerce you somehow…"

Diane finally found a word other than her husband's name. "How did you see these things, notice these things?"

Bernard smiled at her with deep affection. "Because I have hidden for years in shadow, in your shadow, Diane. I can see because no one sees me; no one pays attention. I stand at the upstairs window or on the street, and no one sees."

"Bernard, I...I…" Diane stammered. Sarah could tell it was unclear to her even what she was trying to say.

Langston chuckled again. "It's like that passage in Emerson's _Nature. _'I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God.'"

Chuck sat up. "Did I tell you, Langston, I met Emerson at Harvard? When did you read that book?"

Langston replied, "No, you didn't. I hate to say, I've owned a copy of that book for years but never took it seriously until I met you, Chuck. What do you think of…"

"Enough of Emerson," Diane said, her tone still unsure, "I guess we now know who brought Carina to town, who suggested the lines of investigation to her. My husband, the Mayor." Diane stopped, then repeated herself, her tone shifting into wonder. "My husband, the _Mayor_."

Roan sat back. Diane did not notice; she was staring at Bernard.

Casey, with his leg propped up on a stool and a crutch on the floor beside him, cleared his throat. "Well, I doan know 'bout _trans-parent eye-balls_, but I'd sure like to know more 'bout what happened to Ida Reynolds." He glanced at Chuck. "Ya tol' me Dan'l killed her but really didn't tell me the story."

"No, I didn't. I haven't told it all to anyone yet. It's supposition, mind you, but I think the basics are true."

Carina looked at Chuck. "Well, tell!"

He looked up at her, perched his chair's arm. "Actually, Carina, you were the one who caused the pieces to come together in my mind…"

Carina looked lost. "How? When?"

"That night, when we rode out to investigate the Numbers Gang hideout. You told me not to underestimate the villainy of women. I realized that my understanding of events with Ida Reynolds had all involved a presupposition, namely, that she was an innocent, that she had suffered injustice but not done any.

"Ida Reynolds seduced Johnny Constance." The sheriff stiffened, looked closely at Chuck, as did Nehi. "I don't know why she did it for sure, but I believe at some point she also started having relations with Daniel Shaw. I'm sure that he insisted that she use some...prevention. As you know — I learned about this in Boston, when working with people in the poorer sections of town," his glanced at Sarah, then Ellie, and Sarah knew he was thinking of Jill, among others, " — there are devices to use, or methods...that decrease the chance of pregnancy." Chuck paused, his discomfort plain to Sarah, as these were not typical subjects of conversation. But he forced himself forward.

"Daniel knew that his father intended him to marry Sarah, but his...appetite was what it was, and he must have wanted to have relations with Ida and have insisted that she or he use something or do something that would make her becoming pregnant less likely. I know she went to the railroad camp, looking for something that might...undo...her pregnancy, so I am confident she had knowledge of such matters...despite The Comstock Act."

Morgan piped up. "The what?"

"It is an Act that prohibits advertisement, information, and distribution of devices for pregnancy prevention, and that allows the postal service to confiscate any such items sold through the mail. But the information, the word gets around." Sarah saw Carina nod. "My supposition is that Ida wanted to trap Shaw into marriage — but the success of whatever they were using or doing frustrated her plan...she didn't have forever for the prevention to fail. So, she seduced Johnny, naïve and in love with her, and used him to get herself pregnant. It was a desperate sort of plan but it got worse. When she got pregnant, presumably with Johnny's child, she told him that she was pregnant and he could not tell anyone, no matter what she did, but that if he kept their secret, she would continue to tryst with him. I think she told him both to keep him on the hook, forgive the expression, Sheriff, or because she genuinely...enjoyed...him. And perhaps did not enjoy Daniel as much…"

Chuck turned beet red and Sarah could see that he was sweating a bit. She looked around the room — everyone was paying close attention, waiting for him to go on.

"But if that's right, why'd she go ta see Gert? Didn't she wanna trap Dan'l?" Casey was absorbed in the story but puzzled.

"Good question and that confused me for a little while, then I put something together. Ida was a plotter — almost the equal of, say, Hamlet, for strategies and tricks. On the day Daniel murdered her, she met with Johnny and gave him his orders. Earlier, she had checked with Gert, knowing that the...medicine...she wanted was, likely, not available, but hoping for one more strategy, call it an exit strategy.

"Then she had a quick talk with Daniel outside her window, making plans to meet that night. She hadn't let on yet what she would do; I expect he thought they would just have...one of their regular...meetings. They were to meet late. Before that meeting, she went for a walk — I suspect to steal her nerves, and she ran into Devon." Sarah saw Devon look nervously at Ellie. "Devon told her that he had feelings for her. She knew that already though she pretended she did not — she had a bigger target in mind. Still, the doctor was a better backup than the boy, Johnny, and so she encouraged him, especially after he gave her the comb as a gift."

Devon was staring at Ellie as Chuck talked. Ellie turned to look at him and Sarah could see jealousy and sympathy in her eyes. Devon seemed to see both too. He looked away from Ellie and asked Chuck a question. "But why would she say she was going away? That's what she told me, told lots of people."

"She planned to leave. That fact helped Daniel, though I doubt he planned with it in mind. Daniel really wasn't a planner, it turns out. He just got lucky in doing evil." Casey huffed.

"Anyway, Ida expected, if her plan worked, to have Daniel marry her and then take her somewhere for her confinement period. They would then return later with a story about running into each other and falling in love, with a story about the date of birth and so on that would raise no suspicions. She believed she would leave town and prepared to do so. That also threw me, because, again, I did not think of her as plotting all this.

"She agreed to write to Devon — right, Devon?" Devon nodded. "And she did that because if things with Shaw did not work out, she would have to leave, but she thought she might rid herself of the baby — adoption, I mean — and to return. Shaw would not dare to let on about their history, so she could count on him not to reveal it. She thought she could...manage...Johnny." Sheriff Constance was slowly shaking his head.

"She went to see Shaw later that night, likely pleased with her manipulation of men and events until she found that she had...underestimated Daniel's displeasure at her news and his fear of his father. I think she thought he might react badly, hence the visit to Gert, a retreat position — but he reacted far worse than she imagined. Her crucial error...I reckon. He reacted by stabbing her to death and burying her in the woods."

"Despite public opinion, it was not Sarah's refusal of Daniel's proposal that sent him to Boston. He hoped to vacate of the scene of his murder of Ida Reynolds. That desire may also have kept the situation between the Walkers and Shaws from worsening then. He stayed away until he looked like he had gotten away with it, and until...Boston got difficult."

Chuck stopped for a moment. "I won't go into detail, but Daniel murdered a woman in Boston, a good friend of mine, the mother of little Molly, who's outside with Yvonne Villa."

Chuck rose to his full height with dread on his face. "I have to confess this to all of you: I came to Idaho Falls to be your teacher, but I also came to kill Daniel Shaw. I have now done both — although I can say that I killed Shaw out of dire necessity, not cold vengeance. But I understand if you no longer want me as your teacher."

Sarah stood up immediately and went to take Chuck's hand before anyone could speak. With everyone looking at them, she announced their engagement and the plan for a wedding a week from that day.

Bernard, who had sat down while Chuck talked, was the first to congratulate the couple. All the others did in their turn. Carina was last and Sarah, happy as she was for herself, felt sorry for the detective. Carina loved Chuck but she knew he was not for her. Despite her earlier jealousy, Sarah took Carina in a hug and thanked her for all she had done. When Sarah finished the hug, she met Carina's eyes and made sure Carina knew that Sarah knew her pain.

The room became festive. Chuck's job was secure. No one seemed interested at all in following up Chuck's confession. And that had been Sarah's intention: to move folks past it, past the past, and into the future. Her future.

As Chuck and Sarah talked with people about their plans and about all that had happened, Sarah saw Ellie take Devon's hand and lead him out the back door. She smiled to herself. She had some idea of what Ellie had to say to the doctor, and he to her.

Sarah looked for Carina - to have a word with her, but she had slipped out during the conversation about the engagement.

Jack invited everyone to supper and went to the kitchen to get the impromptu, celebratory meal underway. Sarah held Chuck's hand tight and made the rounds. When they got to Bernard, they both shook his hand in thanks. He smiled and stepped back from them as they passed, watching the people talking and laughing all around him.

* * *

A half-hour later, Ellie and Devon rejoined the group, both looking flushed and mussed. Devon's smile was full and joyous and Ellie looked bashful but happy. Sarah wound through the group and took Ellie's hand.

"Are you okay, Sarah?"

"Yes, I'm better than okay, but thanks for asking."

"Devon and I waited and will congratulate you two more privately, you know, celebrate among family, and let the others have their moment with you."

Sarah nodded. "So Devon counts as family?" She could tell that Ellie heard the teasing in her voice.

"Well," Ellie said, pausing to think, "not officially, not yet."

"Yet?"

"Yes, yet."

"I'm so happy for you two, Ellie. He's a fine man. I look forward to having him as a brother."

Ellie looked away, then back. She smiled. "I love him, Sarah."

"I know," Sarah said.

* * *

The delegation left the ranch a little before sundown. Ellie and Devon stayed and talked with Chuck and Sarah for a few minutes, then they took Molly and left.

As Devon's wagon passed into the dusk, Sarah turned to Chuck. "What about Molly, Chuck? I'd be happy to raise her. I'm crazy about her — and I hope she'd have a brother or sister to play with one day."

"I was hoping you would say that. I mean, about Molly. And about kids, but I guessed, seeing you around her. But I didn't want to presume. I mean, about our own kids. I mean…"

Sarah kissed him. "It's okay, Chuck, I always know what you mean."

* * *

Saturday, October 17, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Sarah was standing in front of the simple stone.

_Emma Walker, Wife and Mother_

Jack stood beside her. He was holding a small bouquet tied with a yellow ribbon that Sarah had prepared, fall wildflowers.

Chuck was standing off at a distance, under the great tree where Sarah had found him asleep a few weeks and a lifetime ago. He watched as Jack talked to Emma. Sarah was crying silently at his side. After a few minutes, she kissed her father's cheek and walked to Chuck, leaving Jack standing, staring down at the stone.

Chuck put out his hand. Sarah took it. She stepped to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. She nestled it close enough for him to feel her warm breath on his neck. "He's been talking to her. Saying things he needed to say."

Chuck nodded and rubbed Sarah's back gently. "Chuck, did you keep that ribbon I gave you up here the first time, the blue one?" Chuck's answer was to pull it from his pants pocket, wound carefully together. "Do you want it back?"

She shook her head as it lay on his shoulder. "No, no. It's yours. But I want to borrow it on Friday. It'll be my _something borrowed _and my _something blue_ both."

He nodded and put it back in his pocket. She kissed his earlobe and whispered into his ear. "I'm so glad you kept that…"

"My prize possession. My fair lady's token of favor."

Sarah giggled. She lifted her head. Jack was still standing before Emma's grave. "Do you remember the words you spoke over her for me, Chuck?"

"Yes."

"She inspired you. I believe it was her talking through you, telling me she had sent you to me. I know you aren't the Holy Ghost - but you are my Comforter...

_That heav'nly Teacher, sent from God,  
__Shall your whole soul inspire,  
__Your minds shall fill with sacred truth,  
__your hearts with sacred fire._

"Mom used your lips to tell me of you, my love, my heav'nly Teacher." She put her fingers on his chin and turned his face to hers. She kissed him.

Jack joined them as they broke the kiss. He gave them a weak but happy smile. They left the cemetery.

* * *

Monday, October 19, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

The school was back in session.

Chuck stood in the front of the Mayor's Office, in the somewhat cramped room, and talked with the students — all of them — about Euclid. He was finishing up the lesson, drawing a moral from the simple proof that had engaged them, that was inscribed on the blackboard hanging behind him.

"Here's something all of you should consider, even the youngest." He smiled at Anthony Rizzo and the other younger children, including Molly. She looked at him with bright, dark eyes, smiling, happy and proud. "The great philosopher, Plato, had these words inscribed as a motto outside his school in Athens. He taught young philosophers there, as I am teaching you here. Outside the door was the motto: 'Let no one ignorant of geometry enter here.'

"Plato thought the beginning of wisdom was to recognize that your senses, seeing, hearing, tasting and so on, are not the only true guides to what is real. Geometry teaches us about aspects of the real world that are unrevealed to our senses. A world of points and lines and perfectly closed figures, like equilateral triangles. This is difficult for you younger ones, but listen now and you understand later. Plato's point is that we have to be careful; the world is a more complicated, more variegated place than we realize. More kinds of things are in it than we dream of in any philosophy."

Faith Stone raised her hand. "What's _very-a-gated_?"

"It means, Faith, roughly, _various, of different kinds_." He looked from her to the whole class "There's a line in Shakespeare," he looked at the older students to make sure they noted this, "_another_ line in Shakespeare, _I just half-quoted Hamlet_, a line of the Earl of Kent's from _King Lear_: 'I'll teach you differences.' In a way, that's what Plato aimed to do, to get his students to see that the differences the senses recognize are not all the differences there are. A philosopher Plato admired, one he thought of as an ancient, a man named Heraclitus, once observed that 'Poor witnesses for men are the eyes and ears of those who have barbarian souls.' Education helps you overcome your barbarian soul, civilizes your soul, helps you understand how to use your eyes and ears and to acknowledge the limits of their powers." Chuck stopped. He had their full attention. "Euclid opens your eyes by teaching you to see with more than your eyes."

With that, Chuck ended the lesson.

He spoke to the students as they prepared to leave. "I have gotten permission for us to stage a small school event, a fundraiser for the new building. We will do scenes from Shakespeare. I have ideas for scenes for all of you, but I would like to talk to Ruth and Johnny for a moment if I could."

The two oldest students stayed as the others filed out.

It had surprised Chuck to find them in class. But they seemed glad to be there. Both, Johnny included, had answered questions. They seemed curious now to hear what he wanted to tell them.

"So, as I said, we will do scenes from Shakespeare, and do it on Saturday, the 31st. I want the two of you to do scenes from Hamlet, especially the scene between Hamlet and Ophelia, in Act 3, Scene 1. I've copied out the speeches for you." He handed them pages covered with his handwriting. "It is an intense, emotional scene, and you will not only be performing it, but you will also be graded on it, so I would like you to talk to each other about it and to perform it with as much understanding as you can."

He looked at them both. "How are you doing?"

Johnny glanced at Ruth and Ruth at Johnny, each embarrassed to answer in front of the other. Ruth answered first. "I'm feeling a little better. What my mother did, it's my shame."

Johnny looked at Ruth as he spoke. "I know about shame."

Chuck gave them both his frankest expression. "Neither of you has anything — at all — to be ashamed of. You are both good students and good people; be patient with yourselves and everyone else."

They nodded and left the Mayor's Office. Bernard entered just as they left. He looked at Chuck — and winked.

* * *

Thursday, October 22, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

Sarah came to town in the morning to see about last-minute preparations for the wedding. Her dress was finished — the dress she had dreaded wearing to marry Daniel and had only been able to work on wishing and pretending to herself it was for her to wear to marry Chuck.

Her wish was about to come true.

The ranch was buzzing when she left, as Jack and some ranch hands cleaned and prepared the barn. Sarah would marry Chuck there. No public building was large enough to hold the number of people who wanted to attend, and the barn had fond memories for Sarah as the place she and Chuck had revealed themselves to each other. It already looked festive and inviting when she and Casey rode away in the wagon.

She was walking toward Mrs. Fitzsimmons' — Chuck had moved back in on Sunday — when she heard a voice call her name. She turned to see Carina. Dressed for travel, Carina had her bags around her.

Sarah reversed course. Jeff, the bartender, came out and picked up Carina's bags and started toward the train station. Sarah arrived as he left. Carina gave her a quick, decisive hug.

"All right, Blondie, this is it. Back to the big city and a new mission, a new case. Chicago."

It surprised Sarah. "You're not staying for the wedding?"

Carina's face pinched a bit. "No, Sarah; I'm sorry about that, but I...can't. I wish you two the best, every happiness, a posse of blonde and overly verbal children, a long...loving life together. I do, I really do. But watching it, well, I realized, I just can't. I hope you understand."

Sarah did not know what to say, so she nodded. They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Then Carina made herself smile, brighten. "Say, Blondie, if the two of you ever get tired of all this bucolic, _Idylls of Theocritus_ life, you both have a future with Pinkerton. They are particularly interested in you. They think you might be an agent nearly as good as me."

Sarah blinked. "Thanks, I think, Carina. But no, absolutely not. I suppose I might do the job," Sarah said, speculating, "but it wouldn't be _me_. It would never be what I want — not like it is for you."

Carina paused and the smirk that accompanied her speech weakened. "I guess we understand each other, don't we, sort of? That's more or less how I feel about — I'll just say it — the thought of staying in Idaho Falls and being the wife of Chuck Bartowski. Part of me would...love it. But it wouldn't be _me. _I wish it were, though. I'll warn you, Sarah. I plan to come back this way now and then, and if I get even the slightest hint that Boston has...unsatisfied needs...I will make it my business to satisfy them."

Sarah's eyes flashed. "You're welcome any time, but keep in mind that I'm at least as dangerous a woman as you are, Carina Miller."

Carina laughed and gave Sarah another hug. "And that, not something maudlin or weepy, is the note we should part on. Tell Boston I still think he's a handful. And tell him goodbye for me." Carina turned before Sarah could respond and started toward the station.

As she watched Carina walk away, she saw Jeff waving at her, coming back from the station. She waited.

He lumbered to her. "Um...Miss Sarah...tell Mr. Bartowski that his crates of books have arrived."

* * *

Friday, October 23, 1885

Idaho Falls

* * *

Ellie was looking out Sarah's bedroom window. It seemed like the entire town of Idaho Falls had arrived at the Walker ranch. As Sarah watched her, Ellie let the curtain fall. She turned to Sarah.

"So, it's settled then. Molly will stay with me at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' until you and Chuck buy a place in town, then she will live with the two of you."

Sarah smiled. "Are you sure that's okay, Ellie?"

"Yes, I love her dearly, but she is Chuck's daughter. He's the only father she's known and she loves you already and will love you as her mom in no time. I'm happy to be Aunt Ellie; it's not like I won't see her every day." Ellie sighed and smiled. "I think it's wonderful. I suspect that somewhere, Jill Roberts is very happy with how this worked out. So, you two are spending the weekend at the Villa's farm?"

Sarah blushed. "Yes, Chuck canceled school for Monday and we will go there after the party. The Villa's have town friends they will spend the weekend with. Yvonne spent yesterday afternoon with me, making sure everything was ready for us...and explaining to me, in considerable detail...what I should expect tonight, and what I might do to make things more...enjoyable."

Ellie gave Sarah a grin brimming with mischief. "If you weren't marrying my brother, I'd love to hear...but…"

"I understand," Sarah noted, "I don't think I could tell you. But I will say that I am very...excited."

"Oh, so is my brother. I don't think he's slept much all week. His imagination's been busy. But he's also been struggling with the original section of the vows you suggested. Hard to fathom, my brother, the word-monger, at odds with words. If nothing else, that shows how much he loves you, Sarah. You go deeper in him than his words do, and I always thought words were deepest in him."

Sarah gave Ellie a pleased smile "Mine just came to me. I haven't tried to write anything like that for years, but I did it once in a while some years ago. I guess I haven't done it since Mom died. Was killed…

"She thought I was the worst of all possible girls, as far as my future was concerned. I had been...miseducated by Dad - I'll tell you about that sometime - and then had come here and turned tomboy. I had no interest except horses and books. She told me I would ride and read myself out of marriageability, so she took most of my books and made me focus on other, more domestic things. I took to the domestic things and was glad to learn them and, after some initial fighting, to grow closer to Mom through them — and I never really quit riding and reading, I just kept it from her, from everyone."

"All I can say," Ellie offered, moving a stray lock of Sarah's hair back into the bun on her head, "is that if God ever made two people for each other, he made you and Chuck for each other. It's like you both spent your lives preparing to meet in this little town."

Sarah smiled a warm but secretive smile. "I believe that."

Ellie stood back and gazed at Sarah in wonderment. "You look so beautiful. Chuck will stop breathing!"

* * *

Chuck was standing at one end of the makeshift aisle.

Under Sarah's instructions, Jack and the ranch hands had oriented the ceremony so that it would take place in the great double doors of the barn, with the audience seated inside the barn. The couple would marry with the sunny Idaho sky as their backdrop.

Jack, who was performing the ceremony, was standing near Chuck. There had been no easy way for Jack to both perform the ceremony and to give Sarah away, and so Casey had been asked to do the latter, standing in for Jack. Casey's was hobbled but he declared that he would let nothing keep him from an act of duty that would be a pride to him.

The fiddler began the tune and the side door of the barn opened. Chuck's visions were gone, he was sure of that, but when Sarah came in, he saw love itself, dangerously beautiful, inspiring beyond words, the flesh of his flesh: he saw Sarah. Her white dress was lovely, simple. She had on white slippers and had the blue ribbon she had given him was wound around her wrist. She had no other adornment.

She was the earth's adornment.

Chuck stopped breathing.

* * *

Sarah stepped into the barn and saw the man of her hopes and dreams. He stood tall and slim in a dark brown Western suit. He was all men to her, everything. A gift to her from God, a gift she did not deserve but which God had seen fit to give her nonetheless. A man in full, the first and last man.

He was the first fruit of the earth, the breath of life.

Sarah stopped breathing.

* * *

Jack performed the ceremony.

After the traditional vows, Jack stopped. He looked at Chuck and Sarah. They were so lost in each other that it took him a moment to get them to note that it was time, then he addressed the audience.

"Chuck and Sarah would now like to add vows of their own. Chuck ,will you start?"

* * *

Chuck took a deep breath. He struggled to put what he wanted to say in words. What he had was the best he had been able to do.

He started, looking deep into Sarah's bluer-than-blue eyes.

"So much  
to see

So much in this world;  
I want to see it  
with you,  
as you see it,

I want to live it  
in and through your eyes;  
To love you  
and to love the world  
by loving you,  
in loving you

So much  
to see  
so much of you to know,  
and known, still always  
so much more to know;

My happiness  
never exhausted,  
my cup overflowing,  
Living waters, my ever-new end  
and ever-new beginning,  
Genesis and Revelation,  
Genesis and Revelation again,  
And again

Transfigured in your eyes  
I see myself  
Loved in your eyes  
And you, my constant, loved in mine,  
I see you and see by you:  
You, the light in which  
I see light

You, Sarah, my beatific vision  
You, my love,  
holy and rapturous,  
my Sarah,  
my vision;  
My wife."

* * *

For a moment, Sarah could not respond. She heard her dad acknowledge her turn. Chuck's words made her burn all over, tremble.

She gathered herself enough to speak in a still voice, but strong enough to be heard.

"Windsong shy and secret,  
Birdsong clear and clearest;  
Bud and blossom fair,  
In waves of beauty breaking  
On a sunlit earth.

A ship enharboured,  
Full content,  
Her anchor drops  
In fathomless peace."

She finished. She could see Chuck's tears, but not clearly, through her own. Her dad finished the ceremony, but Sarah remembered nothing until Chuck kissed her. As he kissed her, she heard her dad.

"I now present Mr. and Mrs. Chuck Bartowsk."

* * *

A/N2: Tune in next time for final scenes in our epilogue chapter, "The Pluriverse".

A/N3: Sarah's nuptial poem, "And I Saw" is borrowed from an almost unknown small volume of lovely poems, _Song of the Servant of God and Other Poems _by Sister Katherine. Chuck's poem is my own effort. I will have a longish A/N at the end of the story, detailing more of the books and so on that have shaped our story.


	32. The Pluriverse

A/N1: And so...

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions?**_

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

_The Pluriverse_

* * *

Friday, October 23, 1885  
Idaho Falls

* * *

The revelries lasted long into the night.

Chuck, resting while Sarah danced with her father, stood by the refreshment table, drinking a cup of punch. Morgan walked up with Anna Wu, all jade, by his side. She was gazing at Morgan and flushed from dancing, the red of her cheeks brightening the jade of her dress.

"Hey, Chuck, congratulations," Anna said, a bit bashfully. She looked around and waved at another guest. "Excuse me, boys, I see a friend there I haven't talked to in a while." Anna walked toward the woman. Morgan watched her go.

"Have you heard, Chuck? We haven't talked with all that's been going on and with my work. Large Mart's been busy but Martin is still spending a lot of his time with Johnny. I see Johnny came...Is that him, over there, dancing with...Ruth Justus?"

Chuck smiled and nodded. "They're in a scene together for the benefit next week. I was hoping it might cause them to talk - at least to each other. I worked with them on Thursday. It'll be good."

"Shakespeare?"

"Yes, Hamlet and Ophelia."

"Huh. Well, you know best. So, have you heard? I asked Anna Wu to marry me."

Chuck faced Morgan. "That's not exactly how I heard it."

Morgan shuffled his feet. "No, it's not exactly how it went, but it is the upshot. She's keeping The Bar None, and running it, but not...working...anymore."

"And you've decided you're okay with that, with the past? I'm not asking because you shouldn't be, but I'm asking for your sake and hers. The town's changed, changing, but people will talk; some will never forget. Are you sure you're okay with that? If you're not, that will come out, Morgan, and it will cause you both to be unhappy. Maybe ruin things between you."

Morgan looked sober. "I am okay with that. I'm crazy about her, Chuck. She scares me silly most of the time, but I'm still crazy about her."

Chuck smiled, glancing at Sarah. "Women amaze me. We men are just company on their journey, I sometimes think - flesh of their flesh, bone of their bone."

Morgan's thoughtful look was still there. "I dunno, Chuck. I think _two's company_. We need them, and they — at least sort of — need us."

Chuck toasted, lifting his cup. "Here's to the _sort of_. May it never change." Morgan picked up a cup and toasted with Chuck.

Anna Wu came back a few minutes later. She glanced at Chuck, knew he and Morgan had been talking, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes. He opened his arms. "Can I give you congratulations, Anna?"

She gave Chuck a quick hug. "Thanks, Chuck. That means a lot to Morgan...and to me."

* * *

Chuck and Sarah got out of the wagon at the Villa's farmhouse.

The house was lit up, lanterns glowing on the porch, a festive welcome. Both Chuck and Sarah had been quiet as they neared the house. Chuck got down and helped Sarah down. He opened the door, then carried Sarah inside. He went back out, grabbed their bags, and blew the lanterns out.

When he came back inside, the beauty of the scene and the scent struck him. Yvonne had decorated the house with wildflowers. Vases were everywhere. Chuck looked around, admiring the beauty of it. Sarah took his hands and kissed him.

"Our bedroom is at the top of the stairs. Why don't you go up and...get ready for bed. I will be up in a moment. I'll turn out the lights inside as I come up. I need to change." She picked up her small bag.

Chuck climbed the stairs to find the bedroom, his bag in hand. More wildflowers in a stunning array. He got undressed. He thought about putting on his pajamas, but he decided against it and slid naked beneath the crisp sheets. He trembled all over.

"Chuck?"

He looked up. Sarah had changed. She had let her hair down and it hung in long blonde waves beside her face. She had taken off her wedding gown, everything. All she had on was the blue ribbon wrapped around her waist.

Chuck's heart nearly sprang from his chest. He gazed at her in desire, equal parts reverence and hunger, spirit and flesh. She grinned shyly and dropped her chin for a second. "I've been waiting for you to look at me _like that_, with me _like this_."

Chuck whispered the words, his trembling reaching his voice. "Sarah Bartowski, you...you are fearfully and wonderfully made."

He lifted the sheet. She looked beneath it and saw him — and her grin widened. "I'm not the only one, Chuck Bartowski."

She slid under the sheet. He draped it around her shoulders as she climbed on top of him. "It's you, Chuck, for me. The first and only."

"You too, Sarah, for me."

She leaned down and kissed him and then licked his lips. "Make me your wife, Chuck, and I will make you my husband. I'm ready."

Chuck ran his hands down her sides, so slowly, then cupped her in his large hands, feeling her tremble as he trembled all the while. He lifted her. She lowered herself. He made her his wife and, coeval, she made him her husband: one, at one and the same time.

Consummation. Consummate. Falling, falling more deeply, rising to fall again, falling, falling more deeply, rising to fall again, falling more deeply in love.

* * *

Chuck woke, shivery. He was spent — beyond what he knew to be possible. Empty and utterly full. He realized what woke him - the sound of voices outside.

He heard a voice sing. _Shivaree. _The voice was Nehi's - a clear tenor, lifted to their bedroom window. Someone was playing the fiddle softly.

Sarah woke too. They got up together, and Chuck wrapped her naked body and his in a blanket. They stepped to the window.

Nehi was there. Ellie and Devon. Morgan and Anna. Mrs. Fitzsimmons and Mark Constance. Langston Graham and his wife. Diane and Bernard. Others from the town and ranch.

_I've a letter from thy sire  
__Baby mine, baby mine,  
__I could read and never tire,  
__Baby mine, baby mine  
__He is sailing o're the sea  
__Coming back to me,  
__Baby mine, baby mine,  
__He is coming back to me,  
__Baby mine._

Nehi sang along and everyone joined in on the refrain. Chuck pulled Sarah tight against him, and they listened to the song, swaying in time.

The song ended and the group left. Chuck took Sarah back to bed and they made love again before falling back to sleep.

* * *

Saturday, September 23, 1886  
Idaho Falls

One year later

* * *

Chuck was reading beneath a tree in front of the Villas farm. He and Sarah were there for the weekend, celebrating their anniversary. The Villas had traveled to Cody to visit Yvonne's sister. As a result, they invited Chuck and Sarah to reprise their honeymoon in the same spot.

Chuck had gotten up early to come to the farm and get it ready for Sarah. He had picked wildflowers and put them in the bedroom. Sarah was still in town, helping Ellie with some last-minute wedding plans. Ellie and Devon were to be married next weekend. Sarah would join Chuck at the farm soon and Molly would spend the weekend with Ellie.

It had been a busy year. Morgan had married Anna Wu in January. Anna Wu not only did as she said and stopped working. In fact, there was no more upstairs business at The Bar None. Anna Wu still had women working there, hustling drinks and entertaining, but the entertainment was all downstairs, public. Zondra Rizzo had left Idaho Falls in the spring, taking her son with her. Carina Miller had gotten Pinkertons to hire Zondra, and when she left, she would meet with Carina to work on an investigation. Sheriff Constance had finally proposed to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, and she accepted, but she was still trying to get him to agree to a date, and that did not seem likely to happen soon.

Langston Graham had gotten Chuck to agree to a once-a-week adult class and he and several others were meeting once a week with Chuck to read Emerson's _Nature. _They planned to read Wordsworth next.

Nehi had gotten himself shot in March. He had foiled a band of cattle rustlers on the Shaw ranch. His wound was not serious but he had taken himself to be about to cross over, and for a few days was inconsolable. He was now attending the adult class on Emerson - he started while he was convalescing and remained.

Devon's practice recovered once the true story of Ida Reynolds became known. Ellie had been working with him daily and was almost as competent as he. The two of them bought a house on the edge of town, near the one Chuck and Sarah bought and lived in. Ellie had moved in already; Devon would after the wedding. Molly loved having her extended family all so close, except for Grandpa Jack. But he often came and took her to the ranch on weekends, so she could spend time with the Villas and see the sheep.

Jack continued preaching. Chuck was unwilling to take to the pulpit again, although he agreed to preach on Christmas and Easter after Jack pleaded with him.

The schoolhouse was rebuilt at the end of the spring, too late for classes, as summer break began. Chuck had not started to use it again until this fall. Johnny and Ruth had graduated. They had become a couple during their Shakespeare rehearsals, drawn together by similar circumstances and by helping each other heal. The last time Chuck had talked to Mirabelle Constance, she had hinted that she was expecting a Christmas proposal.

In a conversation with Ruth in January, Chuck had learned something more about those crucial days in October last year. Ruth's mother, Athaliah, had a drinking problem. On the day of the duel of sermons, the day when Daniel threatened the town, Daniel had not left with his men. He circled back and stopped at the Justus house. He made Athaliah the present of a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag. Ruth did not know if Daniel had planted the notion of burning the schoolhouse, but she knew her mother drank the bottle before she burned the schoolhouse down, immolating herself. Ruth begged Chuck to tell no one, and so he did not, other than Sarah, from whom he kept no secrets.

The Shaw ranch now belonged to Sarah - and so to Chuck. A few weeks after the wedding, just as Chuck and Sarah and Molly were settling into their purchased house in town, Roan Montgomery stopped by. David had named Sarah Walker his heir and had done so on the same day that Sarah had agreed to a date to marry Daniel. David had never intended Daniel to inherit, had never named him in the will. It was one final mystery that David Shaw left behind. Roan could shed no light on it. The papers had been drawn up by a lawyer from Cody, not by Roan. He was just overseeing the disposition of the estate for the other lawyer.

Sarah negotiated with Jack, and was able to hire Casey to run the ranch. She and Chuck intended to sell it. Casey had talked to her about buying it and that was the plan - he would run the ranch until he had the money for a downpayment.

Shotgun Gert had not left town as everyone expected. She spent a lot of time at the Shaw ranch, helping Casey run the place. But he and she both insisted there was nothing between them, although the two of them were as close as the barrels on Gert's shotgun. They made a formidable team and the ranch was prospering.

Monica Stutts and her father bought Lou's Diner. Lou never recovered from Thad Howell's disappointment of her hopes and from his treachery. She sold out and headed to California. Morgan and Anna were silent partners in the business: they had loaned the Stutts the money to buy it. Calling Morgan a silent partner was a stretch. He was often at the Diner, often doing a share of the cooking. Monica would go to college in the fall. Chuck had worked to get her a full scholarship to the school she wanted to attend, the newly formed Tuskegee University in Alabama, where she would study to be a teacher.

* * *

Chuck was concentrating intently on a passage in the book in front of him when Sarah joined him beneath the tree. He finally heard her and looked up. She smiled down at him.

"I've been here a few minutes, Chuck. Time enough to put Whirlwind in his stall and freshen up. What're you reading?"

"Swedenborg."

"You haven't read him in a long time."

"True, but I was thinking about visions."

Sarah's face grew concerned. "Have they come back?"

"No, but I've been wondering if I ever understood them, understood what they were and why I was having them. I was having visions...all the time…more than I knew…" His voice trailed off as he started thinking again. "My visions started with my fever - and with my parents' deaths of the fever. I blamed myself for their deaths and...the fever threw open the doors of perception, and my guilt over and my hunger for my parents, caused me to look through the doors, kept them open. I never got over it and so the doors, though they closed, they never locked.

"And later, when I vowed to kill Daniel, the vow threw open the doors and kept them open. From the beginning of my trip West, the sky changed: it became the eye of a vengeful God, or something like that, staring down at me. I know how that sounds, and I can't explain it exactly, but it was as though the world itself closed while those doors remained open, as if everything in the world was one vast, simultaneous, mutually reciprocal _completeness_, as if each thing interpenetrated each other, and all things telescoped together in one massive...accursed... block...with the doors as the only opening, the only escape. That was itself a vision, I think, a vision of the conditions of my vision, and it was with me all the time, though I only noticed it now and then.

"After that sermon I gave on the schoolhouse steps, my vision of the sky began slowly to change. Eventually, it opened or began to, and then it did finally when Daniel shot me. Everything shifted. The world went from a manyness in oneness... to a oneness in manyness…"

He stopped and glanced at Sarah, who was smiling beneath her furrowed brow.

"I'm sorry," he said, shrugging, "I've just been thinking about a lecture a teacher of mine at Harvard gave, a brilliant philosopher named William James. His brother is the novelist, Henry. James was always trying to explain the difference, and the mystery of the difference, between a universe and a pluriverse.

"My visions required a universe. My visions are gone, and now...my heart requires a pluriverse, a shift from closed to open, from impenetrable to porous, from one to many. _Everything is what it is and not another thing -_ to borrow a line from Bishop Butler. Things are with one another in all sorts of ways, but nothing includes everything or dominates everything. 'And', or 'yes, but' trails every sentence, every thought. Something escapes, something is unaccounted for, sits as a reminding remainder, self-contained and absent and reluctant, - a reminder that our best efforts to explain still limp…"

He stopped and huffed. "I'm not explaining this well at all…I'm limping, I guess"

Sarah laughed quietly. "It's okay, Chuck, I think I get the feel of it. Doesn't it come down to the difference between being imprisoned beneath the sky and free to stand and move in it?"

He looked at her, his eyes grateful for her as always. "Yes," he sighed happily, "that's it, packed into a nutshell. Thanks, love."

She shrugged. "You know, you..._affect _me when you think like that, talk like that."

He looked around, realizing their aloneness for the first time. She stepped closer to him and he saw that her feet were bare beneath her skirt. "Aren't you about done with Swedenborg, Chuck?"

"Yes, but I was thinking about a phrase of Emerson's...about Swedenborg. 'Deranged balance'. I felt that way for a long time. But there is a line of Swedenborg's that I wanted to share with you too. In heaven, Swedenborg says," Chuck glanced down at the open pages of the book in his lap and then grinned up at his wife, "virgins are beautiful as they were in life, but wives grow ever more beautiful in eternity."

Sarah smirked. "Is that so?"

Chuck nodded.

"Well, Chuck, the virgin ship has sailed."

"Indeed it has," he said, his grin becoming a bright smile.

"What does your sage say about mothers?"

Chuck looked down without considering her words, then looked back up, his eyes narrowing. "Mothers?"

"I didn't just stay to help Ellie, Chuck. She and Devon helped me. I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Chuck spoke the word as if it were on a vocabulary test he was giving his younger students.

"Yes, Chuck, _with child_. Everything looks good."

His eyes came back into focus. "Oh, God, Sarah!" He reached for her, his smile incandescent, but she stepped back playfully. "'Deranged balance', huh?'

He kept smiling and answered."Yes, but in this happy and sad, sane and crazy, heaven and hell world, deranged balance, a certain self-adjusting buoyancy, is all you can hope to manage."

"Melville?"

Chuck nodded.

"Say, Silver-tongue, do you remember that scene in the Old Testament, in _Ruth_?"

Chuck drew a blank, not expecting the question. "What scene?"

"When Ruth goes to Boaz. At night. She asks him to spread his skirt, right?"

"Yes."

Sarah stepped back to Chuck, put one foot on each side of him, and spread her skirt, seating herself on her husband, pushing the open book up his chest.

She leaned forward. "When I freshened up, I took off…certain garments...and see, now I have spread _my_ skirt. We're all alone Chuck, and under a friendly sky."

He looked at the blue of the sky then the blue of her eyes. "So we are." He felt his pulse increasing, his breath becoming shallow. "So, I'm going to be a dad, a brother or sister for Molly?"

Sarah nodded excitedly. Then her eyes darkened, another excitement adding to the excitement of her news.

"I want to celebrate. Chuck, shut the book - and kiss me."

* * *

THE END

* * *

_**End of **_

_**Book Three:**_

_**Beatific Visions**_

* * *

**Heaven and Hell**

* * *

A/N2: _Scene! _

I would enjoy hearing your reactions to the completed story. Review?

* * *

A/N3: Writerly Stuff.

A lot went into the writing of this story. Let me mention a few things.

Zane Grey's novels, particularly _The Call of the Canyon_, left a mark on the book, as did Owen Wister's classic, _The Virginian._

Three movies mattered a lot too: _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence_, _High Noon _and _Rio Bravo. _The structural influence of the first should be clear. The other two work as a contrasting pair. Howard Hawks, my favorite director, made _Rio Bravo _in part as a response to _High Noon. _He found director Zinneman's story of a lawman abandoned to face overwhelming odds alone farfetched and so he made his movie, in which virtually everyone in town helps Chance, John Wayne's character. In my story, there is a steady movement from the atmospherics of _High Noon _to the atmospherics of _Rio Bravo _\- the movement taking place primarily as we shift from Bk 2 to Bk 3.

Melville's _Moby-Dick _and Shakespeare's _Hamlet _and Swedenborg's _Heaven and Hell _and Euclid's _Elements _and _The Bible _are all books that matter to the story and are bolted into its structure (as both means of interpretation and objects of interpretation). Emerson matters too, as does William James, although he affects the book more from a distance until the end, when James' _A Pluralistic Universe _is on Chuck's mind. I stayed with writers who someone with Chuck's history would know and who would plausibly matter to him, Harvard educated as he is. These books were useful not only for their (partial) parallels (_Moby-Dick, Hamlet_) in plots, but also because I wanted a moral landscape as vast, as dazzling and umbrageous, as the physical landscape, a sense of the metaphysical encroaching on the physical.

I spent a lot of time in Webster's 1828 Dictionary, working to stay close to period words and usages, and found some books on the history of slang useful too.

Many thanks to Beckster1213 for pre-reading stalwartly. Thanks too to David Carner and WvonB and Chesterton.

* * *

And now, like Carina, it's time for me to catch the train…

_ZG_

Exit theme: Hip Hop vs Western on Youtube.


End file.
